School Girls
by gotanygrapes
Summary: AU: Santana is a rebellious teenager, and Brittany is a sweet suburban girl. They meet when they're sent to an all-girls Catholic boarding school, where they're room mates. Brittana ensues!
1. Lesson One: Anger Management

When Santana Lopez was fourteen, she dished out her first emergency room-worthy injury: a broken arm, two cracked ribs, and more scrapes and bruises worth counting. To an extent, she didn't even mean to cause the harm. She just meant to shove that bitch Ali Inman the hell away from her. Physics and an unplanned, yet perfectly located set of concrete steps took care of the rest.

Juvenile services and the Inmans came pressing for consequences, of course, but Santana's parents swore up and down that it was an accident, a teenage girl's catfight that fell victim to bad luck. When Santana overheard her mother explaining the freak coincidental element of the ordeal over the phone, though, she immediately chimed in with a "You call that _bad_ luck?" before smirking her way to her room.

A normal girl would've been terrified when threatened with expulsion or possibly even juvie, but if anything, Santana felt even more like a hoss than before. She got to crack some skull—figuratively, at least—and got away with it because of the accidental nature of the act. It was almost too sweet to be real. So for several days, life went on as normal for Santana, and she quickly had few to no concerns about how this might affect her.

The story was convincing enough for the authorities, especially when the Lopezes laid out an array of evidence—pictures, souvenirs, gifts—that the girls had been friends. The fact that Dr. Lopez was a surgeon and their family was one of the richest in Lima, Ohio didn't hurt either when they needed to show that Santana was living in a respectable and responsible environment. Unfortunately, the Inmans were not so accepting of the excuse.

They knew as well as the Lopezes that the girls had been friends, best friends at that, but neither knew what had caused the fallout, and neither girl would tell. Actually, silence was a euphemism for the extent to which both sets of parents were getting the cold shoulder from their daughters. In reality, the girls became instantly defensive, agitated, and sometimes outright explosive when asked about just _what_ in the world turned two best friends into mortal enemies so suddenly.

Ultimately, the Inmans gave up. They didn't want to rub salt in their daughter's emotional wounds on top of her physical injuries, and to their dismay, from how the girls were reacting, they suspected that Ali may not have been wholly innocent in this alleged "catfight" after all. So, they made one proposition to the Lopezes, an ultimatum rather: keep Santana away, and they'd stop pressing for social service visits to their household and punitive measures from juvenile justice.

It wasn't a hard decision for Santana's parents to make. In truth, this outburst was merely the straw that broke the camel's back for them. The ultimatum just gave them a shove towards bringing their doubts and threats into action. For the past year, they'd been at war with their daughter for staying out past curfew, skipping class, and disappearing from the house for hours on end.

The one time Santana was stupid enough to stumble home clearly inebriated, her father was luckily the one to find and hide her from Mrs. Lopez. In his mind, it hadn't always been like this; just a year or two before, she was still daddy's little princess, an only child spoiled to the core. Her sudden change upon reaching her teens was a cold shock to his system, and he was constantly pulled between disciplining her like the young woman she was becoming and sheltering her from the punishment she very well may have deserved. But finally, when a few broken bones revealed just how brazen and nonchalant his baby girl had become, the scales tipped for him. As the parent who had been advocating for stricter punishment for Santana all along, Mrs. Lopez was not a difficult convert.

Santana had to be sent away.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When Brittany Pierce was fifteen, she moved into only the second home she'd ever known. Her parents were more upper than middle in the "upper-middle class" category, so she'd lived comfortably and happily in their large, suburban home in the Midwest, but that didn't stop her from welcoming the change.

Sure, she was leaving behind friends and she'd miss her parents and little sister, but attending St. Anne's was something of a tradition for her family. Her grandmother, mother, and aunts had all spent their high school boarding at the academy, and they all described it as the best years of their youth, even claiming that their entire wedding parties were made up of St. Anne girls, because the friends they'd made became just like sisters over the four years of living together.

It may have been hyperbole or looking backwards with rose-colored lenses, but all that they presented to Brittany about the school had been positive. And as a naturally optimistic girl, that was enough. She saw this as an adventure and a coming-of-age. The fact that she got to spend weeks buying dorm decorations and picking out towels and bedding didn't hurt.

So when the Pierces loaded up their SUV in August to move Brittany into her dorm, Mrs. Pierce was the only one to shed a tear. She cried not because she'd miss Brittany—though that was certainly true to an extent—but because her little girl seemed to have grown up so much so soon. Brittany, however, was all smiles as she kissed her family goodbye and settled into her new home. As far as she was concerned, it was a pretty sweet deal being able to design her own new space at school while everything familiar and comfortable in her room at home stayed the same.

She poked her head out into the bustling hallway and saw dozens of families hauling boxes through a chaotic mess of obstacles before deciding that this probably wasn't the best time to go around and introduce herself to her soon-to-be friends. She turned back, picked up a box labeled "Non-Essentials: Desk," and plopped it onto her chair before ripping it open to unpack. She was just about to organize her personalized stationery when she heard her bedroom door slam open.

A man in medical scrubs struggling with what seemed to be all of his daughter's belongings stumbled in, playing a balancing game with duffel bags, cardboard boxes, and roller suitcases. Following closely behind him was his wife, only slightly better off in terms of load with boxes stacked in her arms just barely short of blocking her vision. She rushed over to the vacant half of the room and ingloriously dropped her burden on the floor before snapping her head towards the doorway.

"Santana! Come in! Help your father!" she barked, clearly out of breath from moving.

Brittany couldn't help but let a smile creep across her face. Of course, she didn't know anything about her roommate beforehand, but the prospect of meeting her within moments alone excited her. If her family's experiences were anything to go by, she knew she'd become lifelong friends, best friends, with this girl already.

Santana waltzed in sluggishly, making an obvious effort to scuff her feet on the carpet as she entered. She was carrying only her backpack and clearly had left all the heavy lifting to her parents, but that didn't stop her from taking a long, disinterested look around the room before stepping towards her boxes. "Where's the fire? I'm apparently stuck in this hellhole for four years, so I'll have plenty of time to unpack," she spat back at her parents.

Brittany's smile nearly faltered when she took in the other girl's scowl and disgruntled attitude, but she reminded herself to stay friendly. She didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with her roommate by making her feel judged. She was probably just upset about having to leave home for school…

"Language, mija," the father sighed soothingly as he set down the last of Santana's bags from his shoulders. He wrapped a protective arm around his daughter before his eyes settled on the cheery blonde. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Humberto Lopez, and this is our daughter, Santana." He extended a strong hand, which Brittany shook enthusiastically.

"Nice to meet you, too! I'm Brittany," she beamed back at Dr. Lopez before snapping her attention to Santana. "And _very_ nice to meet you, Santana! I'm so excited we'll get to live together!"

The Latina stood staring back at Brittany, for a few seconds unsure if she was mocking her with this over-enthusiasm or if she was really _this_ excited to meet the complete stranger who she'd have to share a room with for the next school year. She gave the blond a critical once-over, contemplating this, and couldn't help but notice that she was already dressed in a short-sleeved, pressed white oxford shirt and plaid skirt. A part of Santana gurgled up blood and died at that very moment when she realized she'd soon have to strip out of her tight black jeans and Converse to wear the same. Not quite _yet_, though. "Nice outfit, Fraulein Maria."

Mrs. Lopez sighed at her daughter's behavior and tried to force a smile for the young blond. "You'll have to excuse Santana. The move is quite…an adjustment for her." Brittany nodded, as if she understood. "I'm glad she seems to have such a nice girl for a room mate though. I hope you'll be able to take care of Santana for us."

With her back still towards the others, Santana scoffed. Her mother looked back at her and furrowed her brow, increasingly embarrassed by Santana's surliness and now partially fearful that she'll antagonize this sweet, chipper room mate of hers.

"Santana, mija, do you want us to stay to—"

"No. You've done _enough_," the teen all but hissed back at her parents.

With silent sighs and concerned looks at each other, Santana's parents nodded in acquiescence. They took turns hugging their daughter and saying their I love you's before turning to Brittany. "Brittany, honey, it was a pleasure meeting you. My husband will leave his card in case you ever need anything. I hope you enjoy your first year here," Mrs. Lopez offered with another half-hearted smile.

"Thanks, Mrs. Lopez. I know I will!" she smiled genuinely. "And don't worry. I promise Santana is safe with me."

With that, the parents left without another word spoken between them on the drive home. Santana hadn't kept it a secret at all about how displeased—"fucking pissed" were her words—about her move. Now that they'd actually packed up her life and dropped it off five hours from their home, they had plenty of their own doubts. And considering how bitter she'd been upon their departure, there'd be nothing to console them for quite some time.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Santana spent at least half an hour shoving boxes out of her way, trying to figure out where everything was and how in the world to re-organize it. In her utter refusal to acknowledge the fact that she was getting sent away, she'd left all the packing to her mother. That meant that, somehow, her entire life was in these four suitcases and half dozen boxes, and she had no clue how to bring order to such an overwhelming mess. She should've swallowed her pride and let her mother do all the work for her before ordering her away, but that was just disgraceful and un-Lopez to milk favors from people you're furious at.

She didn't have any handle on the situation. (Do I unpack my underwear before finding my drawer organizers? They must be buried underneath my shoes, but I can't pull all those out before hanging up my shoe rack, right? Where's my rack, packed along with my hangers and shower tote? Shit, I haven't even seen my towels yet.)

So, she took to the obvious solution: resignation. She exhaled loudly and flopped back on her bare mattress.

It didn't strike her until just then that she noticed how settled and immaculate Brittany's side of the room was. The girl had been unpacking quietly ever since her parents left—probably because she had grumpily refused to introduce herself and rolled her eyes at her—but, _damn_. The girl seemed to have been living here for weeks already. Her shelves were already filled with books and trinkets, computer and desk lamps wired up and running, clothes hung and organized in her armoire. Santana couldn't help but sigh at the hopelessness of her own situation in comparison.

This second sigh caught Brittany's attention, who set down what appeared to be a set of ducky hand towels and took a few steps closer to Santana's side. "Is everything okay, Santana?" she asked with a sweet smile.

"Yup," the Latina deadpanned without taking her eyes off the ceiling. "Just dandy."

Brittany looked at the disaster that was Santana's unpacking and tried again. "Do you need some help unpacking maybe? You look exhausted."

Santana rolled her eyes again. Exhausted was a nice way to put it. Unable to believe the incredible shitstorm that had somehow landed her in a Catholic boarding school was more accurate, though. "All good over here, Brittany." She sat up on her elbows to take another look at the blond's half. Everything about it made Santana want to thrash and scream and destroy everything about it.

It was so pristine and orderly and safe, so suburban _whitebread _down to how the decorative pillow shams perfectly complemented the bed skirt to how—for some inane reason—even her fucking hand towels had her initials monogrammed into them. It was disgustingly perfect and happy and everything Santana was not at that moment.

"Why don't you work on unpacking yourself instead? It looks like it'll take you forever to make your side livable," the Latina continued with a thick layer of sarcasm.

It was clearly lost on the blond, however, who just looked thoroughly confused, rather than offended. She turned back towards her side to figure out just what was so wrong with her setup that even a stranger would comment on it.

For that tiny snapshot in time, Santana hated her roommate. She hadn't said a single hurtful or rude thing yet to deserve that, but from Brittany's contentedness and methodologically safe and homey lifestyle, Santana thought she just _knew_ that she'd hate this girl. It was girls like this that never thought twice about options other than becoming housewives and popping out babies; it was girls like this who'll never be challenged to decide anything harder than what to do when her best set of eight linen napkins gets ruined and she's left only with an odd seven; it was girls like this who, in the safety of their close-minded "normality," convinced Ali Inman that she was a nasty dyke who was trying to turn her, too.

All of the anger Santana had let fester over the past summer started to boil over again. Her former best friend, being here in this bullshit school in the middle of nowhere four hundred miles away from home, Brittany and other morons just like her, everything sent her mind swirling out of control. She laid back on her bed and shut her eyes, trying to get herself under control before she did something stupid yet again. She tried gripping at the sheetless bed, grasping desperately at the cushion top and gritting her teeth.

Santana was so caught up in her own mind that she didn't notice that Brittany had realized her side of the room was fine for now and had moved to rest her rear in a standing-sit position on her bed. It wasn't until she felt a hand squeezing her arm affectionately that her eyes shot open, fully intending to glare down the intruder before she met the most sincere, crystal blue eyes she'd ever seen in her life.

"Santana, I can tell you don't like being here right now. But, everyone I've talked to really loves it here." The blond paused to smile into hesitant, guarded brown eyes. "It'll be okay. I promised your parents I'd take care of you, and I will."

At that, Brittany let go of Santana's arm and pushed off of the bed. With the same wild enthusiasm that she had upon first meeting her roommate, the blond quickly dug into the other girl's boxes. "Now, come on. Let's get you settled in."

Santana was speechless. It was as if all of the rage that was just about to boil over had been smacked out of her by an undeniably genuine show of kindness, and she was left dazed. Girls like Brittany—or at least girls who she'd thought Brittany was like—didn't act like this; they didn't approach girls like Santana who skipped class to smoke and listen to metal just to promise that being sent away from home would be okay, that they'd take care of her. But, she still looked like them, dressed like them, and had all of their obligatory paraphernalia tote bags and headbands. It was…confusing to Santana, to say the least, and she decided she'd proceed with caution and keep Brittany at a scrutinized arms length.

She decided that, but when she stood up from her bed to help Brittany unpack her own things, her sights again locked onto those gorgeous blue eyes and heart-melting smile, and she couldn't help but feel all her apprehension and suspicion being chipped away. She couldn't help but hope that Brittany was different, even though her recent history should have taught her a lesson to be more skeptical.

Even though she wouldn't realize it for quite some time later, it should have been obvious at that moment. When she was fourteen, Santana Lopez fell in love.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I'm writing fairly late-night, so forgive me for any mistakes. Please let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading! : )


	2. Lesson Two: Social Graces

Wow! Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I didn't expect so much feedback and really appreciate every word. Please keep it up, as people reading/enjoying what I write really makes me want to sit down and continue sooner ;)

Also, I think someone asked if Santana was a year younger in this story. All the girls are entering freshmen (14-15), but Santana's a few months younger than Brittany.

Finally, italics are flashbacks and, at the end, thoughts. I hope you enjoy!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When Quinn Fabray was twelve, her mother first realized that having a child in middle school was more daunting than ever before. She overheard the pre-teenaged classmates of her daughter talk about second base at a pool party, and it immediately set in that her little girl was soon to be bombarded by not-so-little-girl influences. She'd stayed willfully oblivious throughout Quinn's primary school years, but now, suddenly, girls _her daughter's_ age were enveloped in teenaged drama and budding sexuality. It was no longer a distant, sensationalized storyline of a Lifetime movie; it was a reality.

When Quinn was almost fourteen and about to enter eighth grade, she asked her mother what "cum" meant. That was when Judy Fabray dropped the hammer on this whole public school charade. Her daughter was smart, yes, and had the Lord in her heart, but that was just for _now_. This quickly degenerating manufacturing town seemed to be turning into nothing but a factory for teenaged moms and future diner waitresses. Apparently, that whole process started young—now, in fact, for these girls who hinged their whole existence on having a boyfriend and a hot reputation. She wouldn't see her daughter succumb to all the temptations that boredom and lack of vision created, not when she could help it.

So after just one more year, Quinn had her life packed into a small U-Haul attachment to attend St. Anne's. She didn't see it as much of a loss, really. Sure, she was a cheerleader for her middle school's football team, and all the cutest guys wanted to date her, but—like her mother knew—she was smart. She knew that even though she was beautiful and was ostensibly popular with a large circle of friends, they all judged her. Or at least, they envied her bitterly and wanted to see her knocked down a peg or two.

She had the looks and the guys chasing after her, and yet she never let any of them do so much as lay a hand below her shoulders. And even more absurd to their young teenaged minds, when asked about why she abruptly shoved the eighth grade quarterback off her for trying to get past first base, she confidently and un-ironically stated that being in bounds with her faith was more important than his five minutes of glory.

Fortunately for her, what made her stand out was something not many of her classmates would openly knock. In small town Ohio, almost everyone was raised in a Christian home, so it was uncomfortable—if not a little shameful—for them to overtly mock her for actually walking the talk they'd been raised by. So, she was allowed to keep the relatively high place on the social pyramid that her cheerleading and looks earned her.

Unfortunately, it also earned her the reputation of being rather frigid and very prudish, far too uptight to really be close to anyone. Epithets like "Reverend Mother" and "the Virgin Mary" were tossed around beyond earshot and behind closed doors, and rumors and misguided impressions of her perpetuated themselves until Quinn essentially became a caricature. She was the Bible-beating, judgmental bitch that turned her nose up at cussing and dating and partying.

In truth, that was both somewhat accurate and somewhat the product of fourteen-year-old social politics, and that was why Quinn didn't see herself as leaving much behind. She judged the people who judged her right back.

Starting over again would probably be awkward and uncomfortable at first, but at least she'd have the sympathetic understanding of the teachers and administration there. And, it was much less likely that she'd be the conservative anomaly again. It _was_ a Catholic school, after all, she reasoned. The students were probably there for basically the same reasons her parents wanted her there: to keep her away from unduly mature and superficial influences and to insulate her with like-minded girls, girls who would appreciate her faith as something of meaning and value, not just a platform to cast judgment from.

With that expectation in mind, it was more than a little ironic that one of the first girls Quinn met at St. Anne's was Santana Lopez.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"_Hon, will you look at this? …Hon?" Dr. Lopez called out to his wife from the breakfast table._

"_Hmm? What, Beto?" she mumbled back as she balanced a stack of pancakes on her forearms, hands occupied with mugs of coffee. _

"_Some kids from OSU are taking a semester off to go on an 'Equality Ride' across the south. Can you believe that? They think that what's happening to gays across America is the same as what happened to blacks in the sixties? And, the university's perfectly supportive of this sabbatical. This is just…that's just disgraceful."_

_Mrs. Lopez's eyebrows perked up at the sensitive topic. She hardly thought this was appropriate morning coffee talk, but her husband clearly had a strong opinion about this. Since she happened to be in agreement with him, she spared him the "hush up" glare that he might normally have earned._

"_What's an Equality Ride?" Santana chimed in curiously._

"_It's these morons' play on the Freedom Rides that happened in the Civil Rights Movement. People would protest and get arrested, so that the rest of the country would eventually understand how ridiculous it was not to have racial equality."_

_The eleven-year-old stabbed a stack of two pancakes from the platter and moved them onto her plate before staring off pensively. The historical aspect of what her father had just said completely went over her head, but nothing about freedom or equality seemed like it should get him in such a mood. "So…isn't that good?"_

"_It was when they did it. This version of it for gay rights is just embarrassing," Dr. Lopez sighed. His daughter clearly didn't understand, and, honestly, he was grateful for that. He wanted to keep her innocent, away from these people who lived on the margins of society. _

"_Why? What's the difference?"_

"_Mija," Mrs. Lopez called out sternly. "Your pancakes are getting cold."_

"_Because, sweetheart, what these people are fighting for just isn't the same," her father attempted to end the questioning with vagueness. _

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Santana!" her mother snapped. "Your father's right. You'll understand when you're older. Now, you need to eat before we'll be late to school."_

_Confused and frustrated, Santana bowed her head to stare at her food. She had the right to be curious about something her father brought up and seemed to be upset about. It wasn't fair for her parents to get annoyed and snap at her for wanting to know more. _

_Regardless, her mother was quite the enforcer on her own, and it was even worse in conflicts where her father against her too, so she decided it wise to finish her breakfast and not bring up the topic again. Santana was spoiled and pampered, but she wasn't stupid. She knew better than to try to hash out an issue that her parents were already adamant about. _

Fortunately or perhaps unfortunately for her, she never had to ask after that morning. Just because she didn't speak up didn't mean she wasn't still curious. She became more and more aware of the indirect mentions of the topics: whenever she watched "Project Runway" or "Top Chef," her mother would walk by and sigh heavily, commenting on how gay everyone in fashion is, using just that perfectly icy tone; her parents would exchange disappointed looks and shake their heads on the rare occasions that they saw an out couple being affectionate in public. So, even though they didn't shout from the rooftops how they felt, it didn't take long for Santana to learn that her parents didn't like gay people. Sometimes subtlety is the most powerful teacher. She didn't even realize she was learning to feel the same way herself.

It didn't matter, though. Her world was perfectly coherent for the next two years even though she started to realize that something wasn't clicking with her. While her friends became obsessed with the volleyball captain's deep green eyes and how far they let their boyfriends get last Friday night, she seemed to be left in the dust, as far as interest was concerned. She didn't have a crush. Never mind that. She didn't even want a boyfriend. It simply had no appeal to her.

That was odd in its own right, but not terribly problematic yet. She assumed the guys she knew just weren't worth her time, and whenever her friends asked her which guys she was into, they accepted whatever fabricated answer she gave them.

Everything was fine until seventh grade, until Ali Inman moved into town. That was when Santana realized that she was, in fact, capable of feeling all the giddy nervousness and awkward self-consciousness that her friends had talked about experiencing around boys. Coincidentally, that meant that that was when Santana realized she was all of the things that had she'd internalized to hate: all the frustrated sighs, all judgmental looks, all the bitter, dismissive comments.

If they'd been more bigoted, preachier, her parents almost would have made it easier for her. She could've challenged them directly on their views, blown up their rants and judgmental comments into fiery arguments so that they might understand how they were making her feel. But, since their lessons had been dished out so indirectly and non-confrontationally, Santana didn't turn her anger towards them; she didn't even realize that they were the primary source of her self-hatred and shame. In her sample size of classmates, church friends, teachers—all of whom were born and raised in small Midwestern towns—no one liked gay people, so her parents were no exception to that. And, they weren't even particularly aggressive or offensive in their beliefs.

Every construction in her young mind had been assembled slowly, subtly, so she never knew there was anything wrong with it, nor any different and acceptable way to think. That was the genius of it.

With no perceivable antagonist and no conceivable allies, Santana turned all that anger inward. She lashed out not at her parents or classmates, but at herself, splitting away from her popular, boy-crazy friends and self-identifying as a misfit and a target. Gradually, her attitude manifested in her behavior more and more until, finally, God decided to punish her and show her that he had an amazingly dry sense of humor. Enter a conservative, Catholic boarding school.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce?" a mousy voice interrupted Santana's reflection—or, rather, self-pity about the bullshit events culminating in her presence here. The door to their bedroom cracked open and gave way to a wide-eyed redhead. "Good evening, girls! I'm Ms. Pillsbury, your hall advisor. I'm excited to get to know you this semester, and to start, we're having a welcome dinner in the lounge in a few minutes. If you could make your way there, I know you'll have plenty more time this weekend to settle into your rooms!"

Santana just stared back at the hyperactive woman, but Brittany grinned back ecstatically, as if she'd just been invited to a wild adventure. "Okay, thank you! We'll be right there!"

"Mmm," the Latina mumbled in agreement and turned back to her boxes. It seemed like the blond had made better progress organizing her things than she had, which somewhat embarrassed her. She didn't want Brittany to see how sluggish and disinterested she was in her own task when she was helping. She grabbed a stack of uniform shirts and shoved them in her drawers when she felt an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her instinctive reaction was to get annoyed that her roommate clearly had no concept of personal space, but when she turned to brush her roommate off, she couldn't bring herself to snap at that glowing ear-to-ear smile.

"Come on, San! We don't want to be late meeting all our new neighbors."

Again, Santana felt the impulse to tell the girl off and object to the fact that she'd already taken the liberty of giving her a nickname, but feeling Brittany's hand sliding off her shoulder and down her arm shut her up. A shy blush reddened her face, as a pinkie finger intertwined with hers and pulled her towards the door. Her biting words were lost.

There were about a dozen girls already settled into groups in the hall's lounge, chatting and waiting for the dinner spread to be put out. Santana slowed down immediately upon passing through the doorway in order to survey her "neighbors," as Brittany put it. Santana wouldn't admit it aloud, but the sight was…intimidating. Some of the girls, like Brittany, were already sporting the button downs and plaid skirts, and the ones who weren't might as well have been. Apparently, "street clothes" to these girls meant pastel cardigans and pearls.

The fact that they'd moved in in these clothes amazed Santana and would've given her endless ammunition for mocking the ridiculous Stepford-wife aspect of her situation if it weren't really happening. If she were at home, surrounded by at least a handful of cynical, kindred misfits, she wouldn't have hesitated to glare down and snipe sarcastically at the other girls. But, she wasn't at home. She was in a completely new environment and, by the looks of it, was also completely alone. She was standing in a room of suburban housewives-to-be, and she knew not all of them—if any of them—would even try to pretend to acknowledge her like Brittany seemed to be doing. That's the consequence of being shipped to a $20,000/year boarding school, she grumbled to herself.

Right as she and Brittany had poured themselves a Coke and turned to find a place to sit, another blond happened to turn her head in their direction. Her facial expression froze in contemplation, caught between a smile and a scowl, as she eyed the two girls once over. She finally decided to soften into a smile and excused herself from her group to approach.

During her painfully sweet waltz across the room, Santana couldn't help but feel very put off by this other blond. Something about how her mouth smiled while her eyes remained dull or how her hands seemed to be tensely grasping each other behind her back gave her the impression that this girl thought she was the queen bee, another head bitch too superior to notice her beyond insulting her.

When she arrived in front of the pair, she positioned herself to face Brittany fully with her back angled towards Santana just enough to be dismissive, but not enough to be flamboyantly rude. "Hi," she stated simply, with a smile that the Latina was increasingly growing to dislike. Insincerely syrupy was the most apt description she could apply right then.

"Hi! I'm Brittany!" the taller blond offered warmly.

"Nice to meet you, Brittany. Quinn."

"Nice to meet you too, Quinn!"

Santana had no idea how Brittany could pretend to be so enthusiastic about this whole process. And if she wasn't pretending…well, that was beyond even Santana's contemplation.

"I think you and I are neighbors, Brittany. I noticed another blond moving in next door when my parents were unpacking me," Quinn continued with her "friendly" grin. "I guess we're kind of hard to miss."

Brittany burst into giggles at Quinn's smirk. "I guess so." She was always so grateful that her hair never darkened into a dirty blond as she grew older, and she and Quinn _did_ have almost the identical shade of straight, blond hair.

The brunette of the group noticed Quinn's eyes flicker in her direction before quickly replanting themselves on Brittany. She felt the urge to barge in with a comment about how bitchy it was to know someone was present, but not so much as attempt to acknowledge or turn towards them. She began to quietly grind her teeth as the shorter blond continued.

"So, I think Ms. Pillsbury is about to come in and lay down some rules and make us play some icebreaking games for this dinner. But afterwards, some girls are coming over to our room to get to know each other in a less awkward way." She motioned smugly to the group of girls she'd previously been standing with. "You should join us, Britt."

Inadvertently, Santana rolled her eyes. These all-American, wannabe homecoming queens and their flocking together and adopting instant nicknames.

Quinn must've caught the rude gesture out of the corner of her eye, as she finally opened her stance to face both girls equally. "I'm sorry. Who are you?" she asked in a tone that was such a perfect blend of faux sweetness and underhanded judgment that it must have been rehearsed.

Santana's lips puckered in preparation to call this girl some obscene choice word when Brittany interjected just milliseconds before she could. She hooked her arm into Santana's and chimed in happily, "This is my roommate, Santana."

"Oh," Quinn intoned, probably more flatly than she'd intended. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Santana," she tried to recover, as her eyes quickly swiveled between the two roommates. Santana had matched her forced smile and was boring her eyes into hers, while Brittany seemed to be genuinely beaming at her roommate. If Quinn were to think twice about the look, the taller blond might have even looked proud or fortunate to have been randomized into the same room.

"Nice to meet you, too…What did you say your name was again?" The Latina's smile gave way to a hint of a smirk, as if to tell Quinn that she knew and that this tense apprehension towards each other was mutual.

Quinn understood. Her eyes finally matched the grinning expression upon her lips, as they sparked awake with a flourish of competitiveness and confidence. "Quinn Fabray." Her knowing eyes wandered down to fully assess her current challenger. Santana was dressed all in dark, drab colors, various leather and plastic wrist accessories, double ear piercings, with her hair straightened and partially falling into her face. It was all too easy for her to pigeonhole her type, just as Santana had done to her. Her gaze returned to meet fiery brown eyes, resuming their girlishly passive war of wills.

"Well, Brittany, now that we're all acquainted, I should get back to my roomie and friends. See you tonight? Oh, and feel free to bring your roommate…if you want."

"Okay, thanks, Quinn!" Brittany all but bounced as she spoke.

At that, Quinn turned and walked away, without so much as a nod in Santana's direction.

It took all the logic and self-interested restraint in Santana's body not to throw her cup right at that pretty blond head of hair and scream. She had to remind herself that this wasn't home. It was one thing being an outcast insulated in a group of outcasts; it was another being the lone reed in a sea of popularity and Christian tradition. She wasn't sure if she'd survive being wholly ignored or tormented for four full years if she flipped her switch so early on. Or worse, she couldn't let herself get kicked out for losing her temper when there was no school to return to at home that wouldn't be accompanied with social service visits.

So, she'd play this game she'd been forced into and keep herself under wraps for now. She knew high school would be a different beast, even back in Lima, and she prided herself on her ability to survive and adapt. This Quinn Fabray wouldn't make her ruin her own future, not when the match was over something so petty as girl-world politics.

As Brittany dragged her into the dinner line, she had only one thought for the shorter blond. _"Alright, bitch. It's on."_


	3. Lesson Three: Complementary Colors

Santana had always seen the world in blacks and whites: there were things and people who she loved and others that she despised. There was always at least one quality that overwhelmed the scale to tip to one side or another, and no competing trait could ever be enough to strike a mitigated balance. Everyone was one or the other, never both.

Up until a few years ago, her life had always fit into the "whites." She was smart, really smart, and despite lacking any reciprocal interest, she'd been quite the targeted prize amongst her male classmates. Her parents were well educated and had plenty of money, so she was certain to get out of Lima and go off to college. And, she'd always had plenty of friends who gravitated towards her and her whites—perhaps out of admiration, perhaps out of jealousy. Her life was what she thought it should have been, perfectly on track and the perfect epitome of what others envied.

Unsurprisingly, once she started to see herself standing apart from all of those things, she started to notice just how impossible it was to define white anymore. White couldn't possibly be the indulgent, complacent, and self-assured comfort that she'd been raised in, and, by how that life judged and ostracized her, if it was, she wanted no part of it. In fact, she hated those people now, even though they'd once been her community; in a fluid progression of thoughts, they'd slid to the other side of Santana's rigid, two-toned spectrum. (She'd always considered herself a different breed, anyhow, seeing as she wanted a career and never planned on settling down to keep a house and family of four.)

Of course, when Santana inverted her black-and-white dichotomy, it meant that she'd turned her back on everything that she once valued and found comfort in. It didn't, however, mean that everything she'd hated suddenly became likable. The artsy kids were still obnoxiously pretentious and generally untalented, the emo kids were still dramatic and whiney, the goth kids still went far too out of their way to try to shock other people, and etcetera. She chose their company over her former company, sure, since they at least had hating the A-crowd and wannabes in common. But, there was always at least one glaring flaw in them that kept her from grouping her in the whites.

It seemed like no one was worthy of the inviolate, indisputable good status that'd earn a place on the white end of the scale. And worse, given her still-unsettled disappointment with herself, she wasn't even sure which side she put herself on anymore.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

After sharing far too many insignificant facts with each other and an intensely awkward and patronizing round of the Island game, the girls were sent off to their rooms with a stack of handbooks and flyers about school policies and clubs. Santana was alternating between brooding about how self-righteous Quinn's random fact had been and trying to decipher Brittany's: Quinn decided that she wanted the entire hall to know that the best gift she'd ever received was a Bible with her name embossed into the cover, and Santana wasn't sure if the bird her roommate used to keep in her locker was living…at least at one point.

She'd just decided that asking her new roommate if she'd killed and kept bird carcasses in her locker was a little too bold for a first day when she reached their room. She quickly disappeared back into it, leaving Brittany and her neighbors chatting in the hallway. Looking back at her barely dented mass of unpacked boxes, she sighed heavily and trudged back to work. Even if she wanted to declare defeat and end the day prematurely, she couldn't have. Her bed sheets and pillows were yet to be located.

She didn't bother to turn around when she heard her door open and shut behind her, assuming Brittany would just drop off her booklets before joining Quinn and the rest of the wannabe cheerbitches next door. To her surprise, the blond bounced over to her and gently placed a hand on her forearm.

"San, are you ready to go next door?" she asked earnestly.

"Umm…" It was unnerving to Santana that she found the contact more annoying because of just how flush and scattered it made her, not because of how little respect for personal space Brittany had. She normally _hated_ strangers touching her, and she'd normally scoff and roll her eyes at this type of question, because it was so obvious what her answer would be after Quinn all but slapped her in the face at dinner. But, she was being thrown off—maybe by the tingling sensation radiating from Brittany's hand or maybe by the innocence in the blond's question. "Umm, no, I think I'm going to stay and unpack."

"Oh," Brittany paused momentarily before shrugging. "Okay then," she finished before stepping aside to continue unpacking the box she'd been working on before dinner.

Santana finally turned to look at her, thoroughly confused. "What are you doing? You can go. I'm pretty sure Quinn only wanted to invite you anyways."

The blond looked up from her crouched position and smiled at her roommate. "Why do you say that? She asked me to bring you, too." Santana's eyes were about forty-five degrees rotated into an eye roll when Brittany continued. "Besides, I'm not going to be living with Quinn for another nine months, so I'd rather be here getting to know you."

Now, she felt a little guilty for her nearly rude gesture. Even if Brittany was clueless or willfully blind to Quinn's bitchiness, the latter part of what she'd said seemed to make sense and be genuine. It probably was important not to ditch your roommate on the first day for someone who'd been a bitch to them if you want to avoid a year of tense arguments and privacy invasions. "Oh…okay."

"Okay," Brittany replied, flashing her impossibly bright smile as she thrust bed sheets at her roommate and gestured towards the mattress. She took them silently and made her bed as told.

Hard to read couldn't even begin to describe how Brittany was throwing Santana.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Done!" Brittany clapped excitedly after hanging the last of Santana's clothes in her wardrobe. She jogged over to where the Latina was adjusting a picture frame of her family and pulled her back to stand on the opposite side of the room, giving them both a full view of Santana's finally unpacked side. "Tada!"

Santana let out a chuckle, mostly at how childish her roommate was acting, like she'd just accomplished some sort of magical feat. But then, the sight sunk in. What was a disaster of piled boxes and luggage earlier that day had transformed into a more orderly and personalized space than even her room at home. It was something of a miracle, in a way.

"Wow…umm. Thanks, Brittany. I…couldn't have done it without you." It was humbling and somewhat embarrassing how true that statement was. She probably would've just gotten frustrated and given up, lived out of boxes for a while without someone else pushing the process along.

"No problem!" the blond quipped before tossing herself onto her bed and shimmying backwards until she sat up against the wall. "Come here." She patted the mattress beside her in invitation.

Santana sighed internally. She and her friends had never been the type to have funsy little sleepovers where they all crowded onto a bed to chat the night away, so the pull Brittany had over her with such a simple gesture was confusing and, in its inexplicable nature, frustratingly out of character. She crawled onto the bed, then turned to continue admiring their work on her side of the room.

Brittany rotated to lock her sky blue eyes onto Santana, who immediately diverted her gaze. She didn't want to get lost staring, but Brittany just thought she was being shy, so she tugged on Santana's hand to turn to face her. "We've been in the same room together all day, and we've barely gotten a chance to talk. I don't even know where you're from."

"Lima, Ohio." The answer was curt, and the lack of eye contact clued Brittany into the fact that if she didn't push the conversation, there would be none.

"Do you think you'll really miss it?"

Santana chuckled dryly and began to smirk ironically. "Oh, hell no."

"Oh," Brittany replied, somewhat disappointedly. Santana assumed she'd meant to indirectly figure out why she seemed so upset to be there, and missing home was the most obvious explanation. In reality, the blond was just sad for Santana that her home wasn't something that she'd miss. "Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

The Latina cocked an eyebrow at the unrelated question. She expected her roommate to pry about why she wouldn't miss home or why she was in such a pissy mood about being sent away. She'd even mentally rehearsed ways to tell her (and any other inquirers) how to fuck off and butt out when they did ask. Brittany, at first at least, was nothing if not enigmatic. "No, only child, thank the lord."

"I was too for a long time, but my parents had my sister when I was nine. I don't think I could live without her."

"Mmm, guess I wouldn't know," was all Santana offered in response. She'd laced her responses in negativity, but her roommate seemed to allow it to completely roll off her back. She either didn't notice how much attitude Santana was trying to exude or did and chose to disregard it in order to continue the conversation without conflict. Santana almost felt bad if Brittany was genuinely trying to get to know her, and she had nothing but attitude to offer…but that was only an if.

"What's your favorite color?"

Unwittingly, Santana felt her smirk widen at the innocent triviality of the question. "Blue."

"Oh," Brittany eyed her and smiled. "I would've guessed black."

The Latina chuckled. "Just because of my clothes? Judging a book by its cover?" she teased.

"No, but you look really good in it, so I figured you'd like it."

"_Shit."_ Santana flinched mentally. She hadn't expected that, but by the way Brittany held her smile, innocently and seemingly without deeper motives, she quickly assumed that she hadn't meant it to be taken flirtatiously. "How about I ask you some questions?" she tried to recover.

"Okay."

"Okay, why are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you at this school?" Just because Santana didn't wanted to be asked these questions didn't mean that she didn't want to be the one asking. Curiosity was an ugly beast.

"My grandmother and mom went here and really liked it."

"So, you didn't have a choice," Santana stated more than asked.

Brittany just shrugged, her smile never faltering. "I would've wanted to come anyways."

"You didn't want to stay home?"

"I'll miss it, but I think this will be really fun."

"What if it's not?" 

Brittany's smile didn't fade, but did transform into a thoughtful, mildly confused look. "Why wouldn't I like it here?"

"I don't know. Being surrounded by fake, shallow people, not finding anyone you like," Santana suggested nonchalantly with a grin, maybe or maybe not referring to Quinn Fabray and her horde of similarly dressed princesses at dinner.

"Oh," the blond responded in giggles, as if Santana had just asked the most senseless question. "I'm not worried about that. I get along with most people." She paused to collect herself from laughing before returning to her smile. "Besides, I've already found someone I like."

For the second time that evening, she extended her pinkie and held it out towards Santana. Except this time, instead of grasping onto her roommate's, she waited, holding it in the air in front of her expectantly. She watched the expression on the Latina's face flow from confused to apprehensive to accepting when she finally reached out with her own finger and linked them together.

The blond's eyes seem to glow especially brightly with satisfaction when their pinkies were holding each other, and she made sure to share her pleased look with Santana before leaning her head onto the shorter girl's shoulder and resting it snugly there. "I promise it won't be so bad. I mean, look!" she gestured empathically towards their tidied up and decorated room. "This can be home."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

If Santana saw the world in black and white, then Brittany only saw the world in white. People who didn't know her or her family well thought that this was because she was simple, not the brightest girl. But, the truth was that she'd been raised that way, and the older she got, the wiser and wiser her mother's words appeared: the kinder she was to others, the more they returned the courtesy; and, those who dismissed or mocked her child-like friendliness were simply uncomfortable with themselves, so they had to be prickly instead of sincere with themselves and others.

She learned these little pearls of wisdom to be true when she was only eight years old. She'd been bullied by Tyler Chase for weeks until he finally called her a retard in front of the entire class. She cried for an hour in the teacher's lounge before returning to class. When they were the last two kids to be picked up from the carpool lane, she asked him earnestly why he hated her so much. He ended up admitting that he thought she was really pretty and that he was afraid she wouldn't talk to him unless he was mean to her to get her attention. After that, she sat next to him every day during lunch, and he hurled peanut-slathered bread at anyone who dared to insult her.

With every mean or insincere person she encountered, Brittany focused on whatever positives they had and forgave the negatives as mere consequences of some fear or hurt they were holding onto. No one was all bad, and the bad they had could be explained if she really knew or understood them—she was sure. If anything, these people were just punishing themselves by closing themselves off from others.

It was more insight than most fifteen-year-old girls had a hold of, but Brittany would simply say it was common sense. Her mother had taught her these things ever since she could remember, and they've yet to be proven untrue.

So, when Santana thought she could reveal some chink in Brittany's smiley, glowing armor by asking the very same questions she wanted to avoid, she only revealed her own. It didn't take long for Brittany to notice that her roommate was unhappy about being at St. Anne's, but on such a fresh start, she didn't see it as her place to ask about why. Apparently, she didn't have to. For as smart as Santana was, she wasn't so clever as to have danced around Brittany. The blond had become accustomed to looking for the good in everyone and finding excuses for hostility and guardedness. In that light, Santana's questions were rather transparent about her own feelings.

"_So, you didn't have a choice."_ – I was sent here.

"_You didn't want to stay home?"_ – I didn't want to stay home anyways.

"_What if it's not fun?"_ – I'm afraid I'll hate it here._  
_

"_I don't know. Being surrounded by fake, shallow people, not finding anyone you like." _– I don't like the people here and don't think any of them will like me.

Unlike most people whose negative armor she had to look past, Santana didn't strike her as a mean or fake person. As standoffish and jaded as Santana had been or tried to appear, Brittany only saw a girl who was scared and angry, more so than the other girls here who'd never lived away from home and were unhappy about being sent off. Having more to her than lashing out over weight or popularity insecurities made her more intriguing and endearing.

Brittany would've been nice to her roommate regardless of who it was, because that's just the way things worked out best for her. But, she'd be lying if she wasn't particularly pleased with the registrar's randomized choice for her. When she smiled into those dark brown eyes, she could see every chink in the other girl's armor further eroding. She could tell Santana was trying desperately to keep the walls up, but doubted that that's what she truly wanted. Because, every time she caught the girl in the midst of a scowl or eye roll or acerbic comment, she saw the anger and defensiveness give way to her smile and affection.

Each time, it was exhilarating, validating, comforting for Brittany to see. She saw her mother's words ringing true yet again and saw kindness and sincerity breaching the unpleasant, icy façade. And equally satisfying was that she felt like she personally could change Santana's perspective on this place and, as a consequence, become someone meaningful to someone so complex and beautiful. Of course, in the process, she would get to learn the nuances and intricacies of that same fear and hurt that she found so fascinating—perhaps because she wanted to cure it.

So, when she felt her pinkie link into Santana's and her brilliant blue eyes beamed into uncertain brown ones, she meant every moment of that smile. And in the warm, captivating stare of those blue eyes, Santana was almost sure she'd found "white."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Thank you all for continuing to read! Let me know how you think I did please? Feedback helps me think about where I should take the story, and it also makes me want to UPDATE FASTER ;)


	4. Lesson Four: Hierarchies

When Rachel Berry was six years old, she learned first-hand about mindless cruelty. By virtue of being one of the two or three Jewish children in the entire elementary school, her social standing was probably destined to be at permanent handicap already. Young children love to tease, and any difference is fair game at that age. When someone in class didn't know that Christmas is always on December 25th and thought that Santa Claus must've come from the Bible, the floodgates of mockery were first opened.

For a while, she teared up whenever it happened and even slipped into sobbing quietly in class on some occasions. After the first kindergarten open house, the other parents were introduced to her dads—both of them, and their "unique" family unit—and it was only a matter of time before their children started spreading judgmental rumors of their own. At their age, of course, they didn't understand exactly what was so condemnable about the Berry household. But, they did know that their and everyone else's family had a mother and a father, so this was yet another glaring way Rachel Berry stood out. This was yet further material to push her down.

When Rachel was eight years old, she had a full-blown meltdown. One of the particularly grizzly bullies dropped the term "fags" on her for the first time when jeering about her parents, and she was reduced to red-faced screaming and hurling her much smaller self at him. To make the situation all the worse, the teacher pried her off the ogre and sent _her_ and only her to the principal's office.

Her fathers picked her up, still sniffling and shaken from the incident, drove her home and fixed her the biggest bowl of ice cream she'd ever seen. They both wrapped an arm around her as she ate and explained how proud they were of her for defending them and how sorry they were that she had to. They explained the two-year phenomenon of bullying that she'd been experiencing as others being malicious just to make themselves feel more powerful and insulated: the more of an outsider someone else is, the more in the norm they are. She was their star child; her dads had never so much as grounded or yelled at her before in her life. So, she naturally trusted this explanation to be the right one.

She also took on their bit of advice on how to cope: be proud of yourself no matter, and know you'll be loved and successful just for who you are. That philosophy, along with the discovery of her musical talent, kept her chin up for another six years. She managed to smile through the midget jokes and tater tots in her hair with the reassurance that she was just as special and worthy as the alpha dogs who antagonized her. They were cruel, yes, but their cruelty was based in nothing more meaningful than adolescent social pyramids and their own insecurities. They couldn't hurt her if she was sure of herself and didn't give them power.

It was an effective enough defense mechanism for that meantime, and it might have lasted her throughout high school, as well; small-minded, small town teenagers might not have broken her spirit with their insults and cold-shouldering even for another four years. But, when puberty rolled around and middle school came to a close, boys were turning into men, girls into their girlfriends, and the physical bullying transformed from a trivial crumpled paper ball thrown at her head into a dangerous flight into the dumpster or an ice-cold shot of slushie blasting into her eyes. Even small-minded people are smart enough to know that it takes no psychological savvy, no emotional manipulation to make pain hurt.

The introduction of violence into the bullying quickly turned a leaf for Rachel's dads. They'd been so proud of her for fighting the good fight all her childhood, as they'd never really wanted to shelter her from the ignorance and ungrounded vindictiveness of people. It was reality—their reality—and they'd decided before her birth that it was better for her to grow up experiencing it naturally rather than set her up for naïve heartbreak by lying to her about how only young or small-town people act this way. But, once they thought their daughter was in any form of physical danger, they drew the line. They wanted Rachel safe, even though they'd have to sacrifice some of their ideals about meeting human nature and intolerance head-on to accomplish that. It wasn't a hard choice between the two.

They reasoned that the private school in town would like give way to the same machismo-driven bullying, just by virtue of teenaged boys wanting to prove themselves to their friends and girlfriends (at the enablement or encouragement of their girls, of course). And, naturally, in a small town, Rachel's reputation and family situation would be no secret, despite the new scenery, and her experience would probably follow her.

After extensive research, their needs left them with limited choices in their area, and they finally settled on an all-girls school. It was far from perfect: not sending her to the local private school and wanting to keep her away from knuckleheaded jocks and their enablers meant trying to find somewhere safe and geographically isolated (at least relative to the handful of small towns around their own), somewhere not at all aligned with reality. But, their princess had had enough of brutal life lessons for her age and deserved a fresh start, or at least an environment that didn't instill fear. She'd still be a far outlier, a Jew with same-sex parents in a Catholic institution, but being different was better than being endangered.

It killed them that they'd have to send their pride and joy away. It killed them that even their solution wasn't perfect, and she'd likely still be slighted just for who she is. It killed them that who they were contributed to all of this. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than doing nothing.

Very much her fathers' daughter, Rachel looked at St. Anne's as a fresh opportunity. There was no way the school could be worse than the jungle of Neanderthals and philistines where she grew up, and even if it were somehow populated with as undesirable of characters, they at least wouldn't have nearly a decade-old tradition of tormenting her to want to preserve.

Optimism shone through her attitude and comforted both her and her fathers. That is, until the first day of class arrived, and she met Quinn Fabray.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Rachel carried her tray over to the island counter with napkins and cutlery when she saw a flash of bright blond hair bouncing in her periphery. She turned, pepper shaker in hand, and found herself making eye contact with the other girl. She seemed to pause, taking note of the navy blue cardigan and brown leather loafers that Rachel had embellished her uniform with, before her lips decided to curl slowly into a smile.

"Hi."

"Hello!" Rachel responded cheerily.

"I like your sweater," the blond stated through a maintained almost-smirk. Normally, Rachel would've immediately translated such a comment into mockery, but this girl was wearing a very similar sweater—only in pink—and the way her blond hair curled with just the right amount of volume and bounce made her the perfect image of a wholesome 50's sweetheart. Her previous tormenters never looked so…immaculate before. Made up, hot, well dressed, yes, but never so all-America decent.

Subconsciously separating this girl from her prior negative experiences, the brunette smiled widely, optimistically rolling with this as part of how St. Anne's was an opportunity to be in a fresh environment. Maybe in this one, she might even have a friend. "Thank you so much! You look rather lovely in your uniform, as well."

"Thanks," she intoned sweetly, though her hazel eyes flatlined in expression. "I think I saw you earlier in one of my classes this morning. Third period Spanish? With Mr. Schuester?"

"Yes!" Rachel perked up even more. "I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you, but, yes! I'm in that class."

"No problem." She grabbed a few packets of ketchup before nodding towards the dining area. "I'm Quinn, by the way."

"Pleasure to meet you, Quinn. I'm Rachel."

"Same. Where are you from?"

"Zanesville."

"Zanesville." Quinn trailed off. Her eyes drifted away from Rachel and deadened momentarily in thought. "I know someone from there, from cheer camp."

Those words took a chunk out of Rachel's optimism. There was only one high school in her hometown that everyone she knew would have attended. It was inevitable this acquaintance would know her, and any acquaintance from "cheer camp" was more likely than not to have thrown toilet paper at her at one point.

"O-oh?" The singer's voice unwittingly cracked.

"Yeah…" the blond muttered, still lost in thought. "Berry…" she quietly hissed.

Rachel's eyes widened suddenly. "What was that?"

"Rachel Berry?"

"Y-yes. That's my name," the smaller girl tried to respond with a smile, despite her nervousness bleeding through.

Quinn snapped back to herself, realizing she'd stopped walking and had been staring at the ground. Her syrupy smile returned, and she nodded towards her table of friends. "Well, nice to meet you, Rachel. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"See you later!" Rachel forced through a smile. As resilient as she'd had to become throughout her life, she'd be lying if she were to say she weren't disappointed that she was already known at her new school. Her reputation, as seen through a cheerleader's eyes, following her to St. Anne's did not bode well for her hopes of a fresh start.

At that, Quinn left the other girl behind to join her table of girls, some from her hall and some new friends.

"Ew, why were you talking to that midget, Q?" one of them immediately spouted once the blond took a seat.

"I've…heard of her through a friend. Why? What's wrong with her?"

"She lives in my hall and is already totally annoying."

Another all-too-thin girl nodded in smug agreement. "In those gay icebreaking games we had to do, her 'interesting fact' about herself was that she was really talented, and then she sang to our entire hall." 

Quinn chuckled at this. She had nothing against singing, but there was something about people who were so bold and shameless that was nothing short of comical to her. It was probably how over confident they were. "I see…"

"How do you know her?"

"I don't know her myself. My friend from cheer camp went to middle school with her. I wouldn't have known it was her, except my friend always referred to her by her full name for some reason. Rachel Berry."

"Probably to make it clear exactly which girl they wanted to kick in the head."

The entire table burst into girlish giggles at the snipe before the thin girl pried again, "What did your friend have to say about Rachel Berry then?"

"She definitely mentioned the singing thing," Quinn offered quickly before pausing to think about the rest. She remembered them easily, since her friend seemed to _love_ railing on and on about this girl. Apparently, she'd been infamous, something of the school punching bag. If the rumors surrounding her were true, she'd be considerably less sympathetic about the situation. But, if they weren't—well—she extend a tiny grace period of reserved judgment.

"And?"

"And, just other…she's just weird in other ways. Like, she thinks she's going to grow up and be super famous, and she's always chiming into class discussions about protecting animal and gay rights."

Even the girls who hadn't met Rachel before laughed again, grins spreading around the table. "So weird!" one commented.

"Ugh, she'd so better not try to drag us into that. I do _not_ want to hear about it," the first hallmate groaned, full of attitude.

"I guess she really cares about it, because she has two gay fathers," Quinn stated matter-of-factly without thinking.

"Wait. _What?_" the thin girl hissed loudly.

"Her…parents are both men. A black and a white guy," Quinn elaborated. She remembered the gossip crisply from all her friend had ranted about Rachel, but she never really processed it, since she had no clue who was being talked about. Now that she thought about it, it was starting to sink in how unorthodox and off-putting the previously fictional character of Rachel Berry was.

"Ho. Ly. Crap!" The hallmate emphasized each syllable slowly. "No wonder she's totally obnoxious and loud."

Another round of laughter oozed from the girls. The conversation didn't linger around Rachel for long. Since all the girls had only known each other for a matter of days, there wasn't much material to go on yet. Talk drifted to their hometowns, then roommates and things they'd wish they'd brought with them.

The lunch period still had over fifteen minutes left when somehow, one of the first hallmates again caught a glimpse of Rachel sitting across the cafeteria.

"Hey, Jess," she called out to the thin girl. "Are you done eating?"

Jess smirked widely and looked down at her tray. "I'm all done…except for my drink."

"Perfect," she crooned in response before standing up and walking towards the trash and bussing area in Rachel's direction. "Well, let's go say hi to our neighbor then."

The other girls followed with Jess on the far left side of the group, nearest to Rachel. As they passed by, one of the girls "accidentally" bumped into Jess, who "accidentally" flung her glass of milk onto the smaller girl's head. "Oh, my god!" Jess feigned innocent.

Rachel jumped up in shock, allowing the milk to spill down her hair and face before trying to open her eyes. She turned to face her attacker, in hopes that it really was an accident, but before she could, the other girl spoke.

"Soooo sorry, Rach!" she could barely squeeze out before bursting into laughter along with her friends.

The singer's cringed at the sound; this was no accident. When her eyes met the only other pair that wasn't laughing, she took another blow. Quinn. She'd barely met the girl and had only wild hopes of friendship for her, but it was clear she'd shared what she'd heard about her to her clique. Even at St. Anne's, she'd be _that_ girl all over again like she was at home: that Jewish girl with the gay parents, that girl who annoys everyone with her opinions and singing. Even at St. Anne's, she'd still be a bottom feeder of the social food chain. There'd be no fresh start or clean slate for her.

Quinn looked back into those disappointed eyes without pause. She wasn't grinning and cackling like her friends were, but she was far from apologetic. She didn't mean for her friends to come over and ruin Rachel's lunch, but she didn't particularly care enough to stop them. She didn't want to deal with an over-zealous, deluded diva or any of the ideals she wanted to push. Even at a school where she slept and ate with her classmates for nine months a year, she wanted nothing to do with oddballs like Rachel Berry.

When she turned on her heel and followed her friends out of the cafeteria without a word, she made that much clear.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

From the corner of her eye, Santana caught a glimpse of what happened. She only saw the very end of the episode, just milk splattered onto a short head of brown hair and the victim scampering out towards the dorms. She didn't even see her face.

All that mattered to Santana is that she recognized one of the mean girls who'd done the deed. That bright golden blond hair and pink housewife cardigan were hard to miss. Quinn Fabray stood amongst the group with a smug, unsympathetic look in her eyes. She didn't even have the decency to giggle and congratulate herself for her bitchiness like the other girls did. She looked like she actually _meant_ for the victim to be sent a message; it was more than just a "harmless" teenaged prank to her. Girls like her were a uniquely heartless breed who thought that her milk victim _deserved_ what had happened, as if she were sub-human and could be treated like utter shit at the whim of the beautiful elite like her.

Santana knew the type with all too much familiarity. Her blood began to boil, and her face tightened into a scowl as Quinn walked by. Noticing her two hallmates, Quinn's emotionless expression turned to a knowing grin towards Santana, who—for split seconds—engaged in a stare down. The blond quickly ended this by shifting her gaze to Brittany and waving. Brittany must have missed the whole scene, since she perked up and waved back enthusiastically. It made Santana nearly groan out loud.

"Are you done eating, San?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Why?" Santana swirled her uneaten mashed potatoes around to distract herself and keep from showing her frustration.

"Can we go back to our room before class? I think I opened the wrong end of my ketchup packet and have red all over me."

The Latina looked up from her mangled food and smiled. Brittany actually had a distinct squirt stain from squeezing the wrong end of the packet. "Yeah, sure," she chuckled. "We should hurry."

The girls bussed their trays and reached their room quickly, locking the door behind them. Santana began packing her bag for her next class while Brittany unbuttoned her white oxford and surveyed the damage. "Shoot…" she sighed before turning towards her roommate's side. "Do you think this stain will come out?" 

Santana looked up from her backpack and was met with the sight of her tall, very blond roommate in her bra. They'd changed in room with the other present, of course, but for the first weekend, they'd both respected the "you turn your back, and I'll turn mine" rule.

She could feel her cheeks starting to flush. She'd taken as a given that her roommate was a pretty girl, but this—wow. Her dark eyes lingered just too long on Brittany's fit midsection before passing slowly over her breasts and arriving at her face. For a girl who liked girls, Santana was slow to realize that Brittany wasn't just pretty. She was _attractive_.

In a less than smooth manner, Santana cleared her throat in an attempt to recover from her pause. "Yeah, it should." She shuffled through her shelf of cleaning materials before pulling down a bottle of Shout. Making a special effort not to look, she took the soiled shirt from her still bra-clad roommate, and sprayed the red mark down. "It can soak in for up to a week before you wash it, and it should come out."

"Thanks." Brittany smiled brightly. "You're so smart."

Santana couldn't help but laugh at the compliment for something so trivial. "Hardly. It's just laundry, Britt."

That last word slipped out before she could stop it. Britt? After only a weekend, she'd already regressed into using those cutesy, overly familiar nicknames. San. Q. Britt. Being inundated with this much upper-middle class preppiness must be getting to her already.

"Not just that," Brittany responded as if she really meant to say "duh." She'd already grabbed another uniform top from her wardrobe and was nearly dressed again. "I can just tell," she beamed at her roommate.

Once it was safe to look at her roommate again without being distracted by those curves and _abs_, Santana let her eyes lock onto those blue pools. She couldn't stop the smile tearing open the corners of her mouth at the sight. "Well, since I'm so smart, I guess it's lucky we have this next class together then."

"It is lucky. No guesses." She slung her backpack over her shoulder and held her pinkie out towards her roommate. Santana linked hers together and spent the entire walk to the science building trying to suppress her smile.

The girls arrived at the lab just barely before the bell. The classroom was comprised only of two-person lab benches, and they took the last empty table where they could sit together in the second to last row. If it were up to Santana, she would've chosen the very back so she could doodle and daydream more easily, but other people had already taken that idea.

"Class! Welcome to St. Anne's School, and welcome to your first day of freshman biology!" the teacher greeted them with way more vigor than Santana could handle. Afternoon classes were bound to end in a snoozefest or two for her. It was the inevitable result of having eaten lunch and being more than halfway done with classes for the day.

They suffered through the obligatory roll call that all the teachers had used that morning to learn names before the teacher—Ms. Callahan according to the scrawl on the board—jumped right into the lesson. "So, instead of doing the usual games or notecards with your names and favorite book, I thought we'd do something different to help us all learn each other's names."

She turned and released the white projection screen that'd been covering the board, revealing the words: Kingdom – Phylum – Class – Order – Family – Genus – Species.

"Here it is, class. The order of classification in biology. Now, we'll spend the entire year getting familiar with all the kingdoms, especially animalia, plantae, and bacteria, of course. Then, we'll move onto the more narrow classifications down into some individual species. But for today, our mission is to find a way to memorize the order itself. It's step one in learning how to distinguish one organism from another and, more importantly, how closely related we are to other living things. I want each of you to work with your lab partner and come up with a way to memorize this order by filling in the letters 'KPCOFGS' with words that make sense. Here's an example: King Phillip came over for grape soda."

Santana's eye roll was interrupted midway with an excited bounce from Brittany, who seemed to think this exercise would be fun despite how corny and insulting to the intelligence it was. She sighed internally. If her lab partner wanted to have fun with it, she shouldn't spoil it.

"Once you've written one that you're happy with, we'll share at the end, and you can introduce yourselves. Maybe you'll remember each other by who had the funniest or most creative mnemonic," Ms. Callahan finished with a chuckle. Santana couldn't help but smirk herself at how cheesy people's humor gets as they get older. "Alright, then. Go!"

Brittany opened her notebook and wrote the first letter of each word down, but then continued to stare blankly at the paper.

Santana did the same, except started to fill in her own words. If she _had _to do this stupid exercise, she was going to have fun with it. After several minutes of finagling words to fit the proper letter outline, she smirked proudly at her work and touched her partner's arm. "Britt." She pointed down to her notebook. "I have one."

_Kids _

_Partying_

_Carelessly_

_On _

_Friday_

_Get_

_Smashed_

The blond giggled and was luckily drowned out by the rest of the class' chattering and brainstorming. "Santana! We're supposed to read these to the teacher!" She mock chastised the Latina and slapped her gently on the shoulder.

"Ow!" Santana giggled back. "Alright, your turn then, Ms. Teacher's Pet."

Spurred on by her roommate, Brittany suddenly seemed to find inspiration to her blank page and began to fill out her own acronym. "Here," she pushed her paper towards the brunette.

_Katie_

_Pierce_

_Cuddled_

_Our_

_Favorite_

_German_

_Shepherd_

Santana read through it and just smiled. "Is that your sister? And dog?" The blond nodded. "That's really sweet," she responded softly.

"Thanks." Brittany smiled back and pulled back her notebook. "I don't know if it's a very good one, though, since it only makes sense to me. Like, my sister and all."

"Well, I don't think anyone knows a King Phillip who drinks grape soda either."

"You can still do better. Impress me!" Brittany giggled again at her command.

"Yes, ma'am!" Santana quipped with equal mockery. She angled her shoulder away from Brittany to hide her notebook and wracked her brain. Finding words that start with certain letters was harder than expected, which normally would've frustrated her. It was a silly task to begin with; difficulty only should've made it worse. But somehow, she wasn't minding and was content on totally outdoing Brittany.

"Alright!" the brunette proclaimed. "Here. Pure gold."

_Kinky _

_People_

"_Come"_

_Often_

_For _

_Good _

_Sex_

Brittany eyes widened as she read each word of the mnemonic before she burst out into full laughter. "Santana!" She pushed her partner away playfully.

"Aah!" Santana squeaked quietly. "What? I thought I did good!"

"Uh huh. Sure, San," the other girl fought to express sarcasm through her amusement. "Well, at least I was right. If you weren't smart, you'd never be able to come up with such… 'clever' sentences."

Brittany scoot closer to Santana so her right writing hand was brushing closely against Santana's left. She pushed a single notebook in front of both of them. "Maybe we should work on one together, so you'll behave," she beamed up at her roommate.

Santana took a moment to respond, temporarily lost in the blond's genuine smile before returning the gesture. "Yes, ma'am," she repeated before leaning over the notebook, shoulders and hair brushing comfortably against her roommate's.

When she moved into her dorm room three days before, Santana was right about knowing she was nothing like her roommate, but she was wrong about thinking she'd been just like her before. This girl was somehow beautiful and attractive, but humble and sweet. This girl's smile kept infecting her scowl and transforming it into a mirrored grin. This girl could make her find joy in the dumbest, most childish activities forced upon her. This girl had her spewing pet names and giggling down the halls after three days.

This girl, she knew, was nothing like her or any cheerbitches, and this girl, she admit, was better than all of them, even herself.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

For the first time in over a year, Rachel gave into her tears after she'd fled the cafeteria. Spilled milk was far from the worst of bullying she'd received, but what upset her more was how impossible it seemed to escape her past. Not just her past, but who she _was_. Her family background and her ideals weren't just interests to her. They were part of her. Now that she was in an environment that was totally different from her hometown or old school, it still seemed like nothing had changed. It was her, not the people around her, and even though she didn't want to change who she was, it was a hard pill to swallow, thinking that she'd be pushed around and lonely just for where she came from and what she loved.

That's why the tears fell in the privacy of her room before she changed and scurried off to biology. She only had fifteen minutes, but within that time, she managed to pull herself together, at least enough to stop crying. She hadn't completely regained her normal resolve, so she sat in the very back of the class in hopes of passing through the period without incident.

The teacher gave some pedantic and cliché introduction that she mostly zoned out, still rather dejected about Quinn and her clique, until she looked up at the lab partners in front of her. The two girls were giggling constantly, pushing and slapping each other playfully, then coming back together to a more-than-cozy proximity over their notebook, allowing shoulders, arms, fingers to brush against each other. Rachel could tell from just their body language that they were happy. But whenever they stopped working on their assignment, their eyes locked, and Rachel just _knew_. There was something different about the tenderness in their eyes and the width of their smiles. It wasn't how just friends smiled at each other.

She'd never met either of the girls before and didn't plan on interrupting and speaking to them. But, just knowing that they were there—there and _together_ and _happy_—was enough for now. Suddenly, Rachel didn't feel like such an outsider, and suddenly, she didn't feel so alone or hopeless.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Wow! Thank you all so much for reviewing! I didn't expect so many people to read this story. It's truly flattering, considering how awesome this fandom is : ) Right now, I have an idea of where I want this story to end up, but I'm pretty unclear about how to get there.

So, if you have any scenes/ideas incorporated in the middle between here and my ending, feel free to let me know, and I'll try to write them! Or, I'll shamelessly/gratefully take your idea in order to grind out my ending for my benefit more than yours ;)

Also, I'm sorry to the Faberry shippers, but there will be none in this story. I had to take this chapter to introduce Rachel, since she's my last major character, but there will be no romantic relationship between her and Quinn. Apologies if you were looking for it.


	5. Lesson Five: White Lies

At fourteen, Santana could fill in the elements on the period table. She could quote whole acts of Shakespeare and write multi-page explications of Joyce. She was an overachiever, or at least had been before her efforts turned inwardly in anger, and those things were simple. There were rules and instructions. But the one thing she'd never learned—probably never would've been good at if she tried—was how to lie.

God knows it would have been easier for her to. She could've lied to herself, eaten it all up and convinced herself to play the role that was cut out for her. She could be on the way to running McKinley high back in Lima, probably a cheerleader with a hoard of plastic friends and an endless supply of boys chasing her skirt. Eventually, she'd end up with her husband, their five bedroom house, a pair of Chevy Suburbans, and two kids on the honor roll. Lying could've bought her all that.

But, the only thing Santana Lopez was more than entitled was stubborn. If she wanted to be with a girl, she _would_, damnit. Whether or not she was proud or happy with the fact that this was her preference was a wholly separate matter, but nonetheless, she knew what she was and wouldn't give into convenience and cowardice just to avoid herself.

Unfortunately, whereas lying would have come with a prize, honesty came at a cost. She'd already been living in an angry, self-hating shell for a year and a half, trying—unsuccessfully—to reconcile her formerly perfect life with a lifestyle that everyone seemed to judge. Finally, after a year of being best friends with Ali, she caved. She spilled the truth about how she was in love with her, how she was the only thing she could think about, and, worst of all, tried to kiss her. This led to a panicked slew of curses ("disgusting" and "sick" were the ones Santana remembered stinging the most), a shouting match, and ultimately several broken bones.

It hurt. It was icing on the cake of all the ways she'd let her "choice" take away her comfort and safety, and it landed her here in exile without her _former_ best friend and family. All she had to do was be dishonest to stop it, or at least not be forthcoming with the truth.

At the end of the summer, she realized she wouldn't have had it any other way. It was lonely, it pissed her off, and it was fucking unfair. But, it was worth it. Santana Lopez still had her pride. She was no liar.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The week came to a close mercifully. The first week of school was usually not too bad, as far as homework goes, but it's still a shock after lazing around for three months. On Saturday morning, they loaded up all the freshman girls to take them to the nearest town (more like a sorry excuse of country homes surrounding a shopping center) to "give them a taste" of their new surroundings.

It was only about twenty minutes away, but the past five days had been the first that Santana had woken up at any hour of the morning since summer break began. 8 a.m. on a Saturday was a bit much, and she really just wanted to go back to sleep. She wanted to spend the day in bed, or at least in her room. Being around these girls 24/7 was exhausting enough on a weekday; this was sheer overload.

Luckily, the town was literally one walkable strip of stores and restaurants that spanned the equivalent of maybe two blocks of a larger city. There wasn't much to do, so after a movie and lunch, the freshmen were all corralled back to school. It was painless enough, Santana decided. At least the only activity they did besides eating was passive and _silent_, so her morning grouchiness for the aspiring housewives was kept to a minimum.

Once they got back to the dorms, all Santana wanted to do was faceplant onto her bed and sleep. Like, now. Brittany, on the other hand, was wide awake.

"It was cute, wasn't it, San?"

"Huh?" Santana called out muffled, her face firmly buried in her pillow.

"The town. I had fun."

"Oh," she mumbled again before rolling onto her back. "It looked like every other town in the Midwest: small, boring, and generally void of intelligent life."

Brittany giggled at her roommate's snarkiness. "Oh, come on. At least we got to see Wall-E."

The brunette smiled over her dull, tired expression. Being excited by a Disney movie is such a Brittany thing to do…and she thought that after only having known her a week.

"We saw Wall-E, because the theater there only had one screen, and it's the only movie that was showing." By now, Santana was merely making an observation, not trying to bring Brittany with her cynicism.

"Well, that was lucky for me then," the blond stated contently, as she flopped down beside Santana on the bed.

Immediately, the Latina started to tense up. Her roommate had been linking pinkies, nestling her head on her shoulder, and brushing up against her all week, but doing the same thing lying down just seemed so much more…intimate. It was a confusing signal for Brittany to send, and she didn't want to build herself up to thinking the blond was acting out of romantic interest. She was probably just being friendly, girly in a way that Santana had never been.

Brittany noticed how Santana's face went from drowsy to alert and anxious. She giggled, then rolled onto her side and hugged one of the Latina's arms. She'd never met anyone so genuinely nervous and uncomfortable in her company before. Her friends were always warm and playful with her, and the girls who didn't like her were either avoided her or were outright antagonistic or subtly insulting. Then, there were the boys, who always tried to flirt with or touch her. Santana, on the other hand, seemed scared almost, and Brittany found this adorable and hilarious. She was the last person to be afraid of, and she was sure she could make Santana see that—soon enough at least.

"So, what did you think of the first week?" Brittany offered to cut the tension.

"It—" Santana had to cut herself off from her robotic answer, which would've contained the words "blew" or "sucked ass." That had been her default response to how school was going for the past few years, and that was before she was shipped off. This time, however, she paused, because she'd already learned that being a cynical smartass to Brittany when it came to how happy she was there elicited the same effect as punting a kitten. She hated seeing the spark in those blue eyes flicker into sadness. "It was okay, actually," she answered after some thought.

"Really?" the blond chirped brightly.

"Y-yeah," Santana hesitated. "It wasn't too bad." It was true. She'd managed to avoid Quinn and her bitch posse for the entire school week, she hadn't been bullied like the milk girl, and there were no rumors about her being a dyke floating around yet. In that sense, it was already better than home.

"Yay!" Brittany squeezed Santana's arm into a tight embrace. She curled closer towards the Latina's body, causing her to miss the red rushing to the other girl's cheeks. "I'm really happy you like it here."

"I didn't say _like_ it," Santana chuckled.

"Well, I'm really happy you don't mind it here, then."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why does that make you happy?" Santana's voice was steady, almost soft. She didn't meant to interrogate the blond, but to her, this affection, this caring was new, confusing in its ostensible purity.

"What do you mean, San?" Brittany asked back, equally confused.

"I mean, you're not my parents or my teacher. You're not getting paid from my tuition. There's nothing in it for you whether I like it here or not." She knew it was a cynical question to ask, even though she spoke without her normal biting tone, and once she'd explained what she meant, she started to see that kicked kitten look in Brittany's eyes. She cursed herself mentally, and then rolled onto her side, facing away from the blond. She was just curious and didn't want to have to the resulting sadness that her skepticism caused. "Sorry, Britt. I'm not trying to be bitchy."

"It's okay," the blond sighed softly before crawling over and hugging Santana from behind. "Why's it so weird that I would want you to be happy?"

Santana's body was on fire now. It wasn't a sweaty hot or an aroused hot, but a massively awkward and nervous one. Her very pretty, very sweet, very female friend was spooning her now. She wasn't sure if it was worse that Brittany didn't know she liked girls or if Brittany did and liked her too. Either one would've resulted in her acting like she was now—a giddy and shy young teen. "I-I don't know," she stuttered. "Are you this nice to everyone?"

"I try to be. I'd want any of my friends, especially one I'm living with, to be happy."

"Oh." For a reason she couldn't pinpoint, that answer was still dissatisfying for Santana, and it knocked a few of the nerves off of her tension. Brittany was just being nice to her like she would anyone else, she convinced herself. She shouldn't read into the smiles and cuddling and pinkie holding; it was just girly girl friendship.

She had herself convinced, her hopefulness and anxiety contained, until she felt Brittany tighten the hug so that Santana could feel her breath exhale against the back of her neck. "Besides," the blond smiled. "You make it easy for me to be."

At that, the confusion and mixed messages came flooding back to the Latina. She wasn't sure if Brittany meant she thought she was special or if Brittany—by some twisted misconception—had gotten the impression that Santana was being nice also.

Brittany just smiled, feeling the body in her arms stiffen and start to fidget. She knew Santana didn't understand, because she was still wracking her brain when the reality was just that there was nothing _to_ understand. She liked her roommate. She thought she was uniquely adorable in her timidity and fascinating in her buried vulnerability. And so, she wanted her to be happy and wanted to help her get there. It was just that simple. No ulterior motives except the feeling of becoming close to her and the satisfaction of seeing the scowls and sarcastic remarks become rarer.

She chuckled against the back of her roommate's neck. The problem with smart people is that they can never stop over-thinking and struggle to grasp the simple, obvious things that don't come from a book. Brittany knew she wasn't book smart, but she was happy to settle for what she had. At least she didn't torture herself trying to discover the meaning behind a hug or a smile. She didn't want her roommate to have to, either. "Take a nap, San. I know that's what you wanted to do when we got back. You were sleepy all morning." With a final squeeze, she tried to ease Santana's mind. "Don't think too much about it. Maybe it'll make sense when you wake up."

Santana had no choice. She didn't get it, even though Brittany seemed to think being thoughtful and cuddly was normal and made perfect sense. The only other explanation—aside from the simple and obvious one Brittany was offering—was that she was some sort of conniving mastermind, a Quinn-like megabitch who infiltrated her emotional armor before attacking instead of just fighting a straight-forward catfight. She refused to believe this was the case, so she resigned herself to the explanation that that's just how Brittany was: sweet, innocent, and affectionate. Being so unlike that herself, she gave up trying to understand and fell asleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A loud knock on their dorm door came three hours later, and Santana quickly realized two things. The good news was that she was in bed, having fallen asleep wrapped tightly in Brittany's arms. The bad news was she was in bed wrapped tightly in Brittany's arms, and someone wanted her to get up. Well, the worst news was that she'd let herself be cradled to sleep by someone who probably had nothing more than platonic feelings for her, which only made her more confused and shy as hell about the situation. But, first things first.

"Brittany," she whispered, shaking the girl's arms off her gently. "Britt," she commanded with slightly more force, as she shook the other girl off her before climbing off the bed to answer the door. Eyelids still droopy and grumpy from having been woken up from her nap, Santana was in no mood for pleasantries. "What?" she demanded before she'd even finished opening the door.

Ms. Pillsbury's eyes managed to bulge even larger than normal at the hostile greeting. She stood in the doorway, blinking for a few moments before she recovered her chipper smile. "Hi, girls! I just wanted to let you know that you're expected in the dining hall in twenty minutes for dinner. Then, we'll all head to mass together."

The news wiped the grogginess from the Latina, who was suddenly incensed awake. "Mass? Are you shitting me? It's Saturday night!"

Emma's eyes glazed over into full deer-in-headlight mode, again resorting to blinking in silence. Confrontation was not her strong suit. "U-umm. Yes!" she recovered. "Yes, we do mass on Saturday night instead of Sunday morning. It tends to keep the older girls out of trouble on Saturday nights. When they used to have the entire day off years ago, they started to come up with…creative ways to entertain themselves."

Santana smirked at the thought, imagining all the pathetic, effortful attempts girls must've made to sneak in just a few bottles of booze into this school in the middle of nowhere. She'd also apparently made her neurotic, nun-like hall advisor a little nervous and flustered just with her surliness, so…bonus.

Brittany had gotten out of bed unnoticed and appeared dangerously close behind her roommate. "Thanks, Ms. P!" Santana heard from right behind her ear. She shuddered, both from the proximity of the body behind her and the light puff of air that brushed past her ear when Brittany spoke. "We'll be right down."

Emma managed to smile again, having been saved from the awkwardness of Santana's grouchiness by the blond. "See you downstairs, girls." She quickly excused herself to head to the next door, and Santana let the door swing shut behind her.

The Latina let out an audible sigh. Just what she wanted. Church on her weekend night. She would've been content to sleep through the night until Sunday, even if that meant getting around eighteen hours of sleep from the time they got back from their day trip. It was almost perfect, after all, sleeping away a lazy Saturday afternoon in the arms of an adorable, attractive blond. That is, aside from the whole Brittany being—albeit innocently—ambiguous as hell and possibly causing her to become more attached than she realistically should.

She knew she didn't have much time to waste bitching, so she quickly splashed some water on her face and threw on some "church appropriate" clothes: dark skinny jeans and a blue button down. She was sure Quinn and other god squad girls would be in their little sundresses and cardigans, but this was the best she was willing to do. And hells no, she was not wearing her uniform on the weekend.

Much to Santana's dismay, Brittany was the one to pass through the lunch line first, meaning she'd already started to make her way towards the table of their hallmates before Santana could take the lead. The blond sat down and happily greeted their neighbors while Santana just began to eat quietly.

The seating around the table was a veritable reflection of the hall's personality. Quinn and her roommate sat beside each other in the middle with their quickly formed clique immediately surrounding them. Brittany was sitting across the table and two seats away, buffering Santana, who sat on the tail of the rectangle beside an empty seat. She quickly decided that Brittany and No One was the best possible combination of dinner partners, given the choice of these girls.

"So, before I got here, I was surfing the school website, and our priest is totally cute! He just got out of seminary school, so he's still pretty young," one of the clique fawned.

Quinn arched an eyebrow at the nature of the comment and took an aggressive jab at her chicken. Her roommate must've sensed the judgment radiating from the shorter blond. "Kayleigh! That's _so_ wrong," she reprimanded, voice dripping with attitude and eyes rolling.

Santana scoffed quietly. Only a few days in the fold, and Quinn had already found herself an attack dog to do the dirty work. She had to admit. If queen bee was her aspiration, the girl was good.

"What?" Kayleigh let out an airheaded laugh. "It's a fact, whether or not he's a priest."

This time, Quinn raised both eyebrows in mock surprise at what her friend had just said, then reached out for her drink, still silent. With other people she'd hated in the past, silence would've been golden, but this girl's body language was louder than words could fathom being. Every gesture, even huff of air from her oozed elitism and superiority. It was a geniusly passive way to control others' behavior: obvious enough chastise, but not direct enough to be called out for meanness.

"Do you have the picture on your Blackberry?" another girl asked. Immediately, all other eyes darted to her, sucking the life out of her curiosity. She cleared her throat nervously. "I—nevermind. I'll look up his bio later. I'm interested in…what church her came from."

Santana couldn't hold back her chuckle to this. That girl was obviously none too good at hiding her (lack of) quickness. The way she backed down under her friends' questioning eyes only exacerbated that. She was definitely a follower; Quinn had chosen her drones wisely.

"Anyways," Quinn abruptly spoke up with an eerily sweet tone. "Brittany, we're literally next door neighbors, and I don't think I've seen you more than a few times in passing since moving in. How was your first week?"

"It's been so fun. Thanks for asking!" the taller blond chirped sweetly.

"Good." Quinn smiled that empty-eyed smile. "How are your teachers?"

"They all seem super nice! I'm just nervous about Spanish. Learning other languages was definitely not my thing in middle school," Brittany trailed off with a hint of embarrassment in her voice.

"Who's your teacher?"

"Mr. Schuester."

"Mine, too! We should study together, then. I'm sure he teaches the same thing to all his sections, and I'll be happy to tutor you sometimes." Quinn turned her gaze to Santana, eyes suddenly sparking to life in a smirk. "That is, unless Santana can already help you ace it."

Santana's eyes widened, and she nearly missed chewing her chicken and clamped her teeth down on her tongue. She snapped her head to look at Quinn, who was now wearing that victorious smirk that she hated so much. _"Oh, fuck no! Did she just make a racist comment about how the Hispanic girl is bound to ace Spanish?"_ she thought to herself. Her guns were ready to blaze when Brittany's shoulder collided with hers in a friendly bump.

"I hope she will. San's super smart, and I'll need all the help I can get." Brittany was facing to speak more to Santana than Quinn. Her glowing smile and bubbly voice seemed dead set on flattering her roommate, who suddenly felt a wave of calm wash over her.

She tucked away her verbal daggers and allowed a mischievous grin to overtake her expression. "Britt's sweet. That's an exaggeration. But, luckily, I _am_ fluent in Spanish, so I'll be able to help her with anything she needs. I'd be happy to, too."

"Yay! Thanks, S." Brittany giggled and hugged her roommate.

Still grinning, Santana quirked her eyebrow at the other blond. "But, if you need help keeping up, you're welcome to join us, Quinn."

Their eyes deadlocked in the world's most smiley glare down. Almost a full minute must've passed before both girls were satisfied that they'd conveyed the animosity and dislike for each other underlying their sweet grins. Finally, Quinn broke the silence. "Sweet of you, Santana," she oozed with way too much softness in her voice before taking the last bite of her dinner.

After a swallow that Santana could only pray was painful and embarrassed, Quinn picked up her tray and started to stand. Immediately, the rest of her clique was cued to follow suit, as they began to head to bus their dishes. "Well, see you in the cathedral, B."

Santana's meal suddenly became more appetizing. She took her time savoring each bite slowly, completely unable to stop smirking. _"Tastes like victory,"_ she chuckled to herself.

Within a few minutes, the dinner period came to a close, and the girls were herded to the sanctuary in a large mass of the entire high school. Ms. Pillsbury led her freshman girls to their assigned pews before excusing herself to the teacher's section in the front. Santana was quite pleased to at least be left unsupervised and near the back if this was how she had to spend her Saturday nights. Maybe she could log some good nap time, so she could stay up later wasting time on the web.

The organ processional lasted for another five minutes, as the entire school took their seats before the priest and deacon entered with the cross and incense. "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," he recited into the microphone when he reached the front. Several girls' heads had followed him all the way down the processional aisle, undoubtedly gauging his hotness.

"Amen," five hundred female voices called back.

Santana had to admit, this was intimidating. Her parents had dragged her to church when she was younger before she didn't know of any reason to protest other than the fact that she was up early on the weekend. But at home, her church had definitely not been this full. There were definitely not five hundred people packing a sanctuary, and there were definitely not five hundred voices causing "Thanks be to God" to drone out like a suffocating echo after every reading.

It was certainly more intense than any service she'd ever had to experience. Her parents were only occasional churchgoers themselves and had left her alone when she refused to come the past few years. These girls, this environment would not be as accommodating. She already knew she was an outsider, a sinner, in the eyes of this doctrine, but sitting in this packed room, listening to these prayers and congregational responses, watching everyone pour their hearts into the hymns made her _feel_ judged instead of just know she was.

Santana had zoned out whatever the priest was reading when the hoard of girls unexpectedly called out, "Lord, hear our prayer." The synchronized recitation punctuated her discomfort, and she began gnawing on her lower lip.

Five hundred backs slouched and heads bowed simultaneously, as the priest led them in a long, welcome prayer. Santana sat up straight and began to look around at the sea of homogenously dressed, homogenously behaving students. She didn't pray, but the beauty of the ritual was that everyone else's eyes were closed and heads bowed, so no one would say anything about it.

Her eyes flickered around the room until they caught a glimpse of another girl who wasn't praying either. She recognized her. It was the girl who sat behind them in biology and, for just the last two days, had seemed to find too much courage and tried to answer most of the questions Ms. Callahan posed to the class. Santana arched an eyebrow at the girl across the pews, as if to ask why she wasn't participating in the service.

The other brunette smiled brightly and waved weakly at the Latina, then pulled at the chain around her neck and jiggled the charm, a Star of David. Santana smirked. The girl may be a brownnoser, but at least her parents were just as insane as hers were when they enrolled their kid at this school.

The prayer ended, and five hundred backs straightened in unison. Well, four hundred ninety nine did. Santana turned back to look at her roommate, whose eyes were still lidded shut and whose head was still bowed slightly over her chest. Her deep breath and stillness indicated that she'd already dozed off.

Santana grinned. Brittany totally had the right idea. She tried her best to imitate the blond, spacing her mind out into daydreams. The emphatic sneer with which the priest spat the word "sin" and the lofty, breathy voice in which he cooed "God's love" would be less upsetting this way.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The girls arrived back at their dorms just before 9 p.m., which Santana found completely pointless. If the school thought they were stopping any shenanigans from taking place by holding the girls up until 9 p.m., they had clearly never met a teenager. No one slept this early on a Saturday night, at least not when there was a better option than sleeping. In this school, however, better options seemed to be the stuff of fantasy. Santana had grabbed snacks from the hall lounge's pantry and was planning on spending the evening in the lovely company of her laptop, DVD collection, and a tower of Oreos—and, of course, hopefully Brittany.

"So, that service must've flown by for you," the brunette chuckled.

"Huh?"

"I mean, you slept through almost the entire thing."

"Oh," Brittany responded quietly. "I don't mean to be rude. I just get bored easily. Sometimes when we're praying, my mind starts wandering. I start thinking about my puppy or dance class or home, and before I know it, I'm actually dreaming. Sorry."

Santana let out a pleased laugh. "No, don't apologize." The blond seemed to actually be ashamed and apologetic when she was the last person to be religion police. "That's cute," the Latina continued with a smile. "So, I take it you're not very religious?" 

"I don't know." Brittany shrugged.

"What do you mean?" Santana arched an eyebrow out of genuine curiosity.

"I don't know. I never seem to be able to remember when to respond to the calling or which scriptures go with what holidays or which stories are from the Bible and which are from the…the apoc..apocal…?"

"Apocrypha."

"Apocrypha, yeah. Everyone else doesn't seem to have a problem knowing all that, but I just can never remember and don't think it's that important anyways," she continued with another shrug.

Brittany's elaboration did nothing to clarify what she'd meant to Santana, so again she prodded. "I don't' know if I know what you mean."

"I mean, I guess I don't feel like I get much out of church or reading in Sunday school, but I can still feel it anyways wherever I am." This time, Brittany was sure she was clear, so she knelt down at Santana's shelf and started browsing her movie collection. "Ooh, can we watch 'Pretty Woman,' cuddle, and stuff our faces with cookies?"

"Wait, what?" Santana's eyes bulged for a second. Now Brittany was asking to cuddle, not just doing it naturally. After logic settled in, the Latina decided that it was probably still just being girly girl friendly; she wanted to watch a movie about a hooker being saved by a rich _man_, anyways. But also, she was still clueless as to what she meant about church and feeling "it."

"'Pretty Woman.' Julia Roberts totally can't pull off the blond wig, but—"

"No, not the movie. The other part. What do you mean you can feel it wherever you are, but don't feel anything in church?"

Brittany pulled out the movie and set it beside Santana's laptop before plopping down onto the bed to face her roommate with a patient smile. Santana was doing her over-thinking thing again where she couldn't accept the plainly stated truth. "I mean, I know there's something out there. I can feel it. I just don't think going to church or praying really helps me feel it any more than I already do."

"Hmm," Santana intoned. She meant it more as a conversation ender than a pensive noise. She was a dug-in non-believer, and quite frankly, she resented religious people on the whole for the general fact that none of them could live up to their own moral standards and for the specific fact that she was a member of one of their most popularly condemned groups. It was better not to get into the subject if she and Brittany weren't eye to eye on the matter; she wouldn't back down if it came up, and she didn't want to pull the claws out on Brittany.

The blond didn't catch Santana's intent, however. She shifted on the bed so that she and Santana were sitting side by side with their backs against the wall, arms and legs brushing against each other. "You don't see what I mean?" she asked carefully.

"Not really. People are pretty terrible and shallow in general, and even decent people fuck up often enough. I don't 'feel' anything magically tying us together or making us good."

"Oh," Brittany nearly whispered. She was getting that sad puppy face again, and Santana immediately felt guilty for being so honest with her cynicism.

"Sorry, Britt, I—"

"No, it's okay," the blond interrupted. Her smile returned, this time more sweet than excited or patient. "I wasn't mad. I was just…sad."

"Why?"

"Because," Brittany began, but quickly hesitated. She reached down and laced her fingers into Santana's—all of them, not just the pinkie—which made the brunette's heart start to pound and that terrified, shy flush return. "When I say I feel it, I mean it's when I'm with my parents or playing with my little sister or dancing. I'm not just happy, but like…whole, you know? And, it's not like anything special is actually happening or because they planned out how to make me feel that way. I just do. So, it must be something else, right?"

"I—" Santana stuttered. Normally, she would've shot the air right out someone trying to convince her to be religious (or spiritual or whatever), but Brittany was looking back at her with so much hope, so much naïve honesty that she couldn't bring herself to spew skeptical logic at her. And, the hands. Her body was a mess. She was anxious and self-conscious and in no state to embarrass herself further right now by being a bitch. "I guess, Britt," she conceded softly.

Brittany let out a brief chuckle and continued to smile. "You're just saying that."

"I—okay, maybe…" the Latina muttered and shifted her eyes down to their intertwined fingers. She couldn't believe she was being so passive and avoidant; this was a topic that really lit her fire and made her combative, but those eyes, that hand. It would've just been criminal to lash out.

"You've really never met anyone or seen or done anything that was just so beautiful that you just _knew_ that it couldn't have been an accident? Like, something so perfect that it shouldn't exist, but it does, so you know that something must've made it that way…just for you?" Brittany gave her roommate's hand a tender squeeze to get her to look at her again.

When she did, Santana was trapped. Those sky blue eyes bled hope and were on the brink of a heartbreaking sadness. Brittany was looking at her, desperate to find out if she'd ever experienced that same kind of happiness and fulfillment to understand what she was talking about. She was poised to be crushed if she hadn't. Santana still couldn't understand _why_ the other girl cared so damn much, why it mattered to her if she were happy, or why she so badly wanted her to have experienced this sheer, sublime joy. It made absolutely no sense to her why someone would care about her like that, especially after just a week.

What Santana did know was that her heart was pounding out of her chest, she had shivers coursing through her spine, and she was staring into the most gorgeous eyes on the most gorgeous girl she'd ever met. She knew that she was ridiculously attracted to this girl, and she was by far the sweetest, most adorable, most perfect thing in the world. But with all Brittany's innocence and sincerity, she knew she couldn't ever tell her. Brittany had been a really great friend to her, but that's what she wanted to be: a friend.

The last thing Santana would be responsible for doing is preying on this girl's sweetness and innocence by blurring the boundaries of friendship and romance. And, she definitely wouldn't let Brittany know she felt this way, since she might naively dive head-first into the idea and be okay with a romance with another girl. Santana would _not_ let that happen to this girl who—in all likelihood—was straighter than an arrow.

Brittany was probably too understanding and forgiving of others to know how quickly everything would turn on her perfect world, but she wasn't. She'd been there, done that, and she wouldn't turn Brittany or let Brittany have the option to turn when she knew all the rejection, self-hatred, and loneliness that came with it. Brittany wasn't that way, and she'd be a monster to take advantage of her to make her that way, especially knowing all the costs that would come with it _here_, at a Catholic school, of all places.

So, shying away from those anxiously waiting eyes, Santana looked down at her hand and began to fidget. She was nervous about what she was about to say; she didn't want to hurt Brittany, even though she knew that blond had no idea what she'd been thinking about.

This had never happened before. Suddenly, it was the truth that was easy and convenient to tell. There it was, a pretty, sweet girl served up on a silver platter for her taking, and all she had to do was tell her. Just tell her, and she could have her without the blond so much as suspecting foul play as to what'd happened. But, no. Santana Lopez may be a bitch and may now become a liar, but she still had her pride. She wouldn't prey on Brittany and defile everything innocent and pristine about the girl and her perfect life. _She'd_ be the one to cave first before she let that happen. So, she did.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice shook. It was as if her body instinctively wanted to shut down before it complete the command; she couldn't even consciously force herself out of her stubborn way. She exhaled deeply and continued to stare down into nothing until finally, it came out. "No, Britt. I've never felt that before. I've never met anyone who made me feel like that." She paused before quietly adding, "I'm sorry."

At that, she scrambled away from the blond and began fiddling with the DVD and laptop, her salvation by means of distraction. She started the movie and forced a smile to her lips before grabbing the Oreos and pushing them towards the blond. "Hungry?" she offered weakly.

The calm sadness slowly faded from Brittany, as she took Santana up on her offer and reached for a cookie. The brunette internally sighed, instantly relieved when the contented smile resumed its place on Brittany's face; she felt like she'd dodged a bullet in getting out of the conversation that way.

Ultimately, it was a minor victory. It only ended that one line of questioning. She didn't realize that after fourteen stubborn years, Brittany Pierce had turned her into a liar in only a week.

She spent the next hour and a half glued to Julia Roberts, trying to avoid looking at the girl who—in her own words—must have been made this way just for her.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Holy crap, this was a long chapter. I hope you enjoyed it : ) I thought about breaking it up into two parts, but it just didn't make as much sense without the beginning and end in my opinion. Also, if it felt chaotic and like the narration changed its mind all the time, good :P It was a very Santana-centric chapter, so those were her thoughts throughout the chapter.

I want to thank you all again for your (undeserved!) flattering comments and feedback. It's much appreciated. Criticism is fine too if you have it!


	6. Lesson Six: Chemistry

So, since the last chapter didn't turn out exactly as I wanted it to when I posted it, I spent a few days mulling over why it was bothering me so much. I decided it was just incomplete, so I edited and re-uploaded the end of Chapter 5 a few days ago. The rest of the story may make a little more sense if you want to re-read the last few paragraphs of "White Lies."

Now that that's finally fixed (in regards to Santana's devolution into a liar and her thoughts on Brittany's straightness), I can push forward! Sorry about the wait :)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Are you sure you won't come with us, San?"

"Yeah, I'll pass, thanks."

"But, it's already September! It'll be chilly soon, and then we won't be able to go swimming for, like, months," Brittany reasoned, as if this were supposed to be compelling for Santana. It wasn't. It was Labor Day weekend, which meant she'd have an extra day to sleep and spend some quality time on the internet reading gossip and fan fiction (lame, she knows). When it was between wasting time alone or spending it with Quinn and the plastics at the pool, the choice was easy.

"Mm, no thanks, Britt. Sorry," muttered softly. It was the gentlest way she could say fuck no. The outdoors were so not her thing.

The blond sighed into a defeated smile. "Okay, if you're sure…"

"Yeah, have fun though, okay?"

Brittany helped herself onto Santana's bed, sitting beside where the other girl was lying with her laptop. "I'll try, even though I'll wish you were there," she beamed down at her roommate. She held her gaze for a few moments longer than was necessary to speak, just taking her time to smile and actually _look_ at Santana. When she could feel the brunette starting to tense uneasily, she bounced back onto her feet.

"I should go meet them. See you soon!" With that, she grabbed her towel and bounded out the door.

Once Santana heard the thud of the wood shutting, she shut her eyes and let out a deep breath. She made up her mind the first week of class that she'd save Brittany from herself; the blond was all sweetness and playfulness, and she'd sooner take her secret big, gay crush to the grave than ruin that or see it destroyed. Brittany could only be so touchy and affectionate, because she had nothing to hide. It was just the way girly friends were to her, and she was secure enough to show it, unlike the Latina who was usually reduced to nervous, stuttering, awkward reactions.

Santana was trying, but Brittany was making this so _hard_. She didn't know how she'd make it through the year. It'd only been three weeks, three tortuous weeks of cuddling and hand-holding and spooning and "wish you were here's." It'd been three weeks of mixed messages that she knew were just adolescent female affection, but what she guiltily wished were more. She knew she was doing the right thing, not turning the affection romantic or sexual, but times like this—when Brittany had just pranced around the room in her bikini for half an hour and gotten way too close on the bed—made it hard not to want more.

Santana flopped back on her pillow with a frustrated groan. She couldn't shake the image of that perfectly toned body wiggling out of her jeans and bouncing around while tying up her hair. It was the most miserably gorgeous sight to see, and this was just the latest of the past weeks' exhibitions. Whereas she'd been winning the mental battle not to try to push herself onto Brittany, the physical battle was a whole different front—a much more primal and harder to control one.

Yes, she knew that Brittany was the image of wholesomeness and sweetness, but that didn't stop her from being attractive. _Damnit_. She growled again in frustration. She couldn't help but feel pervy for thinking about her roommate like this, but the inconvenient truth was that she did. This was her personal purgatory, trapped in limbo and forced to live with this beautiful, adorable creature without being able to have her and without being officially shot down to end all these little fantasies. So, all she could do was grumble, writhe uncomfortably in bed, and let her mind wander…

All she could think about when she shut her eyes were those long legs, tight abs, and perfect curves, and for a moment, she paused to consider…releasing some tension. It was a rare occasion that she'd have the room to herself, but there was that nagging in the back of her head how awkward and perverse it was to do this thinking about her friend. Then again, she felt guilty having feelings for Brittany one way or another. It couldn't hurt if she at least eased the physical stress…right?

Santana decided to cave. As long as she kept this to herself, it wouldn't have any effect on Brittany; it would be safe. Besides, if she had to watch that perfect blond body walk around in a bra everyday for the next eight months, she was going to explode if she kept it all—emotions and attraction—bottled in. She sealed her eyelids shut and let her mind take a few detours off her disciplined, determined path. It was just about to get good when she heard a quiet knocking at her door. _"Fuck!"_ she sighed to herself. It had literally been only minutes into her thoughts before an interruption. Every sign in the universe was screaming that she should _not_ be thinking about the blond like this.

She stormed towards the door, damn ready to bark at Ms. Pillsbury if she was here to tell her about another surprise religious ceremony or community-building exercise she had to attend. She flung the door open to the sight of a short, timid Rachel Berry looking up at her.

"Hello!" Rachel chirped with a guarded smile.

"Yes?"

"I-I'm Rachel. I know you from bi—"

"Yeah, biology. I know who you are. Do you need something?" The irritation bled through in Santana's tone and unnerved the shorter girl. After three weeks of being subtly tormented by Quinn and the plastics, Rachel'd taken special inventory of the student body—who to avoid, who to be quiet around. The Latina was one of the very small handful of girls who might be a candidate for, well, actually talking to her. She didn't want to alienate her right off the bat.

"I—" Rachel paused and cleared her through nervously. "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to work on our lab homework together. We have quite a bit due on Monday, and I would love someone against whose work I could compare," she finished with a hopeful smile.

"It's like 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Thanks, but no thanks on the homework offer," Santana deadpanned. If it weren't for this intrusion she would be…well, she wouldn't be doing anything she'd write home to her parents about, but still she'd be in peace and privacy. Homework was always something she saved last-minute for the night before it was due.

"Oh, o-okay then." The singer tried to keep the cheerful confidence in her voice, but couldn't help but fear she'd annoyed Santana.

"Yeah, uh, thanks though," Santana mumbled and began to turn back into her room.

It was now or never, Rachel decided. She should just go all out, since she'd already exposed herself as the awkward nerd who does homework on Saturday mornings. The encounter couldn't get worse, but if she let it end like this (having left a bookishly awkward impression), it would be even more impossible to reach out again. High school politics, of course. "Wait! Ummm…" she stalled and started to chew on her lower lip. "I was wondering if you wanted to, umm, hang out for a little? No biology involved."

The Latina turned back to face Rachel, an eyebrow arched in skepticism. "Why aren't you swimming?"

"I wasn't invited."

"Oh," she muttered again. It was her understanding that today was an unofficial pool party for all the freshman girls before it got cold. She had no idea it was by invite only and could only guess at which social monarch orchestrated it. "Yeah, okay." If Quinn hated this girl, then maybe she wasn't so bad after all, brownnosing nerdiness be damned.

"Great!" Rachel's fidgety smile curved into a genuine one, and she followed the taller brunette in.

They settled opposite each other on the desk chairs before she piped up again. "I do very much appreciate this opportunity to get to know you better, Santana. You know, I've been sitting behind you and Brittany for weeks, but I've never gotten to speak to you, since we're always working with our lab partners. Well, everyone else is. I'm sitting solo, of course."

"Yeah…" was all that Santana could mutter in response. She was quickly beginning to doubt whether or not this was a good decision. Nerds weren't her usual circle of friends. Her friends at home had been the bitter, disgruntled peons to the social elite, not the happily ostracized bookworms like this. Even if they shared being at war with the queen bee, that didn't mean she'd have any clue how to relate to this girl. In fact, she didn't. "Sorry, umm, I wasn't really expecting to hang with anyone today, so I'm not sure if there's anything to do in our room."

"Oh, not at all! I didn't come here to impose upon you and expect you to entertain me. I'm more than content to share some company."

"Okay, so, umm," she scrambled for conversation starters before she remembered. "Why is a Jew at a Catholic boarding school?"

"Oh," Rachel giggled timidly, nervous about having to expose her past to one of her hopefuls. "Well, I experienced quite a few difficulties back in my old school. It just wasn't a good fit for me."

"Why? You seem smart enough not to be flunking."

"Not academic difficulties," the singer paused thoughtfully, strategizing the most evasive way to answer. "Let's just say I was at the very bottom of the social pecking order."

Santana scoffed slightly. The other girl seemed so hesitant about admitting that when it was pretty damn obvious. She'd come over to do biology homework on a weekend and was wearing some maroon abomination that appeared to be either a Pegasus or unicorn sweater. To say she was on the bottom of the social order was probably far too generous; she wasn't even registering on it.

But nonetheless, she was in no position to peg anyone as a loser, since the social royalty viewed her on the same level (thereby making it petty and meaningless in her mind). Even if she wasn't a familiar ally, she might still be a kindred spirit. "Yeah, that sucks. Was it bad?"

"It was…quite unpleasant." Rachel stated vaguely. Santana nodded in understanding, and so, encouraged by the potential interest and understanding, she continued. "When the harassment transcended mere cattiness and became violent, my parents decided enough was enough. So, they wanted to send me to a safer environment."

"Mm," the Latina intoned in acknowledgement. For speaking so articulately, this girl managed to say a lot of vague nothing. "So, what happened?"

"Well, I suppose the straw that broke the camel's back was when I was tossed into a dumpster, but there were many other prior instances that were less extreme."

"Jeez…" was all Santana could manage. She had choice slurs flung at her on a daily basis at school, but to be physically humiliated in addition was just degrading on a whole lower level.

"Yes, so that's why my dads made the decision to keep me away from jocks and violence."

Santana couldn't help but start chuckling at this. "Did you just say your dads? As in like 'Yeah, son, my moms was all up in my bidness, but I was like I keeps it real, ho!'" she mocked playfully, using her best ghetto tone and signature head bob. The idea of unicorn, penny loafer girl using that slang had to be laughed at.

The nerves returned to Rachel's voice, as she giggled hesitantly. "No, I mean my dads, plural. My parents are both men. I was born via surrogacy."

"Oh." That wiped the grin right off Santana's face. She felt rather insensitive now. "Sorry, I didn't know that's what you meant." No wonder this girl was a pariah. Not that she had anything against gay parents, obviously, but she was sure that this—along with the questionable wardrobe and over-zealous classroom habits—was a main cause of her torment.

Noticing that the other girl looked somewhat embarrassed at the moment, Rachel gave her a reassuring smile. "It's no problem. Most people have that reaction when I mention my parents to them, too."

"Yeah… odd choice of your dads, though, sending you to a Catholic school of all options. Not the most open-minded place for liberal gay Jewish parents."

"It was the most appropriate solution for ours various needs. It wasn't perfect, and the bullying still happens, but it could be worse I suppose."

"What's happened to you here?"

"Oh, nothing dire. No violence or threats like there used to be, of course. Just a few run-ins with some girls who are…quite confident and insulated in their social standing already."

"You mean Quinn," Santana all but hissed.

"You know her?"

"Yeah," she scoffed and pointed towards the wall behind Rachel. "She's our neighbor. Loves to give me bitch glares whenever we talk."

"Oh, well, yes, it was her. She has quite a few friends—"

"Minions."

Rachel grinned. "Minions in my hall, as well. So, they're collectively unpleasant towards me, but nothing drastic."

"Well, she wouldn't be an evil dictator without her ignorant band of loyal followers," the Latina snorted.

"Excuse me?" the singer asked, utterly clueless to the reference.

"Wait…you haven't seen 'Mean Girls?'"

"N-no," Rachel admitted sadly. It usually never bothered her before that she didn't know or understand these pop culture phenomena that her peers talked about, but she never had a prospect for a friend before.

"Holy shit."

"I'm not much of a teen movie person. I look to Broadway and foreign films when my need for entertainment calls."

"I see…"

Rachel wanted to wince at her own words. Of course musicals and foreign dramas would be un-relatable to a peer. "Anyways, it's interesting that Quinn is antagonistic towards you. Does she treat Brittany the same way?"

"No, I guess she's fine to Britt."

"Interesting indeed."

"Why? Brittany looks like one of them, and I—well I guess I speak for myself, right?"

"No, Quinn's willingness to typecast was predictable. I think it's interesting she treats you two so differently when you're—" she trailed off, unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to ask delicately. She was new to this making friends thing; she couldn't help that she was extremely curious and didn't know proper boundaries yet to filter appropriate from inappropriate questions. Santana _might_ eventually catch out to what she was hinting at.

"We're what?"

"Well, you're always together is all."

"Not really. We only have that one class together and happen to be roommates."

A smile tugged at the corner of Rachel's lips. Santana was trying to play this off so nonchalantly. "You still seem to spend quite a lot of time together. And when you do, it's just—" Again, another pause for careful wording.

"Just?" Santana drawled out expectantly, eyebrow again arched in scrutiny. She wanted to know why Rachel was being so damn coy about this.

"You two just seem very close. It's sweet. Especially the way she looks at you! It's just so—"

"Wait, what? Brittany's smiley and sweet to everyone, not just me," the taller girl shot in abruptly.

Rachel could sense the beginnings of annoyance and defensiveness in Santana's voice and tried her best to proceed cautiously. "Y-yes, from what I can tell, she does."

After a few moments of silence, Santana's tense expression eased. "She does," she repeated with a definitive nod. Her gaze fell to the floor, and the silence reappeared as she slipped into her own thoughts. To Santana, the shorter girl seemed content to wait out the quiet and not risk stepping on any more toes with her inept chattering.

In reality, Rachel had to channel all her will not to pry further and not to burst into adoring giggles at how aggressively Santana claimed that she and Brittany didn't look and touch and speak to each other with a special amount of care and affection. It was cute in its own stubborn and oblivious way. She thought maybe she should buy her a map of the Nile, though.

Once the silence had gone on for too long and she realized her guest had been sitting idly for minutes, Santana snapped out of her thoughts. "Maybe we should watch a movie. You'll never survive high school unless you've seen the documentary on Quinn Fabray."

"Documentary?"

With a smirk, Santana held up her DVD of "Mean Girls" and tapped on Regina George's face.

"Oh," Rachel giggled. Never mind the movie. She was just thrilled that Santana didn't kick her out for being too suggestive. She shut down the questioning, yes, but she let her stay. This was a good sign.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Quinn sauntered over to the row of poolside chairs, ignoring the other chattering teens and closing in on one particular blond at the end. Brittany was lying peacefully on her stomach, just enjoying the heat and sun before it disappeared behind the overcast for the next five months in the Midwestern winter.

"Hey, B." Quinn smiled, as she sat down on the adjacent chair and offered the other blond one of the bottles of water she'd been carrying.

"Hi! Thanks, Quinn!" She accepted happily. "Where's Jess and your roommate?"

"Hot tubbing," the shorter girl nodded towards behind her. "I didn't want to. I want to enjoy the natural heat while we still can."

"Mmhmm. It's a beautiful end-of-summer day."

"Yep." Quinn took a drink and reclined back in her chair. "I can't believe we've almost been here a month."

"I know, right? I've never been away from my family this long."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm," Brittany hummed pleasantly, still laying flat on her stomach with her eyes shut.

"Wow. You seem to be adjusting well then." Brittany smiled in response before Quinn continued. "How do you like it? Thorough assessment after being here for a month?"

"I love it!" The taller blond radiated despite her closed eyes. "I expected to like it, but I'm really happy here."

"Oh, yeah? Everything's going well then?"

"I think so!"

"Good." Quinn closed her eyes and stared blindly into the bright sky. "How's your roommate?"

"Santana?"

"Yeah. Kayleigh and some other girls have already had roommate drama. Basically the girls who've never had to share a room before are ready to claw each other's eyes out," she ended with a smirk. She'd be lying if she said she didn't expect Santana to be a nightmare roommate. All that attitude and negativity would wear down on anyone's nerves over time.

Brittany just giggled at the hint. "Well, I have a little sister, so I don't think I'd have that drama anyways, but she's great. I love living with her."

"Really? I know the roommate assignments were supposed to be random, but it's like they went way out of their way to pair you two up with the complete opposites of each other. I'm surprised you two don't hate each other." Quinn spoke as if she were simply listing facts. No quirked eyebrows or venomous tones. She just thought she was stating the obvious, not being an underhanded snake.

Brittany did what she did best and laughed it off genuinely, turning onto her back and sitting up slightly, so she could make eye contact with the shorter blond. "I hope we're not opposites! San's, like, really smart and actually really shy and adorable. If we're opposites, I need to make some changes." She beamed down at Quinn.

The queen bee reached over to the drink table and picked up Brittany's sunglasses, sliding them over her eyes before she sat up to meet the other girl's smile. She took a moment to study Brittany. At first, she wasn't sure if she was joking and being sarcastic, but Brittany's glowing blue eyes and expression never faltered. She was actually serious.

"Huh. It doesn't bother you that she's, like, kind of moody and anti-social? Like doesn't want to hang out or do anything with the girls?"

Brittany shrugged, not even blinking. "It's okay. It's not like that stops me. I mean, I'm here."

"I guess that's right. I mean, as long as you're not bothered by it."

"Mmhmm!"

Quinn really wondered if something could make this girl stop smiling. If having the bitch-glare extraordinaire as a roommate didn't do it, nothing would. "It works out, then."

Again, Brittany nodded enthusiastically, then laid back again to relax in the sun. Behind the sunglasses, Quinn continued to study Brittany as if she were a foreign species.

To Quinn, she was. She had high standards for people, which is why she was the most lonely popular girl back at home. She was surrounded by girls who wanted to be her or wanted to be around her for the coolness factor. But, it was never genuine; she knew the things they said behind her back. No one was ever nice or forthcoming with her because they liked her or just because. Everyone wanted or needed something out of her, and even if they got it, they'd still be catty and ugly about her if the situation called for it.

Brittany, on the other hand, had no hidden agenda or social aspirations that she could discern. She just…was. And what she was was sweet, playful, and accepting. She'd never encountered anyone like this before who actually realized all the moral standards she believed in about loving one's neighbor and refusing to be ambitious at others' expenses.

Although she didn't sport a cross necklace or promise ring, she was living out the Christian ideals more than any of her other hypocrite friends were—though Quinn still assumed and appreciated that she was Catholic by virtue of her presence here. And so, even though she'd continue to hang around her new friends (they were conveniently securing her social status), she began to develop a special respect for Brittany that the other plastics hadn't yet or never would earn.

If this girl could like Santana—like, genuinely and actually be nice to her with no strings attached—she didn't deserve to be grouped with the backstabbers, gossipers, and fakers she'd always known. The only problem was that Brittany was so accepting and sweet that she wouldn't be able to tell if someone meant to use or take advantage of her.

Quinn's expressed settled on a contented smile looking over at the girl and decided, from then on, she would do it for her.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Three hours later and a few skin tones darker, Brittany made her way back to her room, leaving a trail of small droplets of pool water. She stepped inside to see Santana sitting in nearly the exact position that she'd left her in, face buried in her laptop lying in bed.

"Hey!"

"Hey," Santana called back softly. She channeled all her discipline into staring at that screen. She knew that Brittany was about three feet away from her, still dressed only in a bikini and speckled in drops of water. She didn't want to catch herself perving out again. "Have fun?"

"Mmhmm, I missed you, though." Brittany pulled off the wet towel that she'd had wrapped around her and hung it on one of the hooks by her hamper. "What've you been up to all this time?" She walked over to Santana's bed and knelt her still-damp knees onto it, leaning over to peak at her roommate's screen.

Santana smashed her ALT-F4 buttons to close the gossip blogs she'd been reading. She was _not _ready for Brittany to know she secretly had a crush on Britney Spears…or that apparently, she had a type. "N-nothing. Just wasting time," she muttered nervously.

"Was that Britney Spears?"

"No!"

Brittany just grinned in response and placed one finger on the back of Santana's screen, pushing it shut slowly. "Are you sure?"

"All right, yeah…maybe." The brunette blushed in embarrassment.

"It's okay. She's totally hot. My parents would only pay for ballet and jazz dance lessons, so I would watch her videos in my room and teach myself all the dances."

"Yeah, umm, I don't normally like that type of music, but…"

"You don't have to like the music to like the dance," Brittany responded confidently. She took the laptop out of Santana's lap and placed it on the bed. "Besides," she continued with a smug grin. "Everyone has a guilty pleasure favorite Britney song. What's yours?"

"I'm not a pop person. I don't know enough Britney to have a favorite."

"Santana!" Brittany stood up and grabbed Santana's hand, yanking her to her feet.

"Aaah!" The Latina yelped in a pleasant surprise. They stood there, separated by only inches with Brittany lacing the fingers of both their hands together. _"Shit,"_ she cursed to herself again. Her roommate was doing it again, making this so impossible. She quickly darted her eyes away from Brittany's perfect smile toward the floor. Unfortunately for her, looking down from those eyes meant looking down at that utterly flawless, still wet, bikini-clad body. _"Shit,"_ she repeated to herself. She had to pull it together. "F-fine. It's 'Lucky.'" _"God, if you're out there, curse you for inventing abs."_

"I knew it! Everyone has one." Brittany bounced in place as she celebrated the admission. She knew being a Britney Spears fan was something not in line with the image Santana always tried to keep up, so she was proud she got her to crack so easily. She squeezed both of Santana's hands, hinting her to look up again.

"But, you picked one that didn't have a dance. That video's more of a story than a performance. I was going to teach you the dance for your favorite Britney song, but…" she paused and released her roommate's hands, allowing her own to slide up and down Santana's forearms slowly. "I guess we could make up our own."

"_Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!"_ Santana panicked. She could handle purgatory, but since when did limbo involve extreme and calculated forms of torture; she didn't deserve this. Her skin was on fire from the contact, and she could feel the heat flushing to her cheeks. If she didn't pull it together, Brittany would inevitably notice her physical reaction and be freaked out—or at least really confused.

The brunette cleared her throat shakily and put on the closest she could come to a smile. "Yeah, maybe later. But you just got back from the pool and are literally dripping wet on the floor." She forced a giggled out. "You should shower and warm up now, though."

Brittany didn't react for a few moments. Her eyes remained locked onto Santana's, and, still smiling, she continued to rub her hands up and down the other girl's arms. "You're right," she finally decided. "Be back in a bit."

With that, she grabbed a fresh towel and her shower tote and headed out the door. Santana watched her leave and then flopped down dramatically onto her bed. She sighed heavily and took several deep breaths to settle down.

Three weeks down, eleven to go. Then, spring semester. Jesus, this was going to be a really long year.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Brittany grinned the entire way down the hall to the bathroom, cheerfully humming "Lucky" to herself. To her, it was decided. Her roommate was adorable.

Santana was still so shy and nervous around her. She'd never had this effect on anyone before, and she had to admit that it was really cute in its awkward uncertainty. It was nothing like the apathetic and bitter front that she tried to put up; in fact, it was quite the opposite with her frantic and scattered behavior, and that made it flattering.

But still she just couldn't understand why. She thought she'd always done a good job of being welcoming and friendly to everyone. No one had ever been scared or intimidated by her before, so it made no sense that her roommate seemed to freeze in place and lose the ability to make eye contact or speak loudly whenever she was physically close. And, unlike any of her friends at home, she never took her turn to initiate the affection.

Santana was different, but Brittany didn't mind. But she still wanted to wrap her head around why her roommate shied away from her so much.

Brittany knew she was no rocket scientist. She thought the periodic table was a foreign calendar and had to read abridged editions of Shakespeare to avoid the ye olde English. If you were to ask her what her favorite Joyce poem was, she'd probably respond, "Who's she?" She was okay with all this. School wasn't her thing, and that was fine.

But, even she knew that when they stood face to face, dangerously close to each other, there was undeniable electricity between them. It was warm and affectionate, but it was also so much more than what the same gesture had been between her and her old friends. Her heart raced and her smile widened at the slightest hint of Santana softening and accepting the contact. The brunette's furious blushing and avoidance just amused and encouraged her further instead of warding her off.

Brittany couldn't understand why Santana didn't want to feel it too, or why she was so afraid of indulging in the same tenderness the blond was so eager to share. The touching, the cuddling, the holding, it just felt _right_. And, she had more than good hunch that Santana liked it, too. She only hoped that she'd hurry up and realize that the contact shouldn't feel so unwelcome. Until then, the blond just kept smiling, laughing quietly to herself at the irony.

Santana was smart, a fast learner with an impeccable memory. But, it doesn't take a genius to understand chemistry.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Whew! I'm sorry this chapter took so long. This one took me a while to write before I sat down and grinded it out, so pardon any typos. I'll fix them eventually!

I hope you all enjoy. I do love hearing suggestions/critiques from you all. And, I'm still desperate for scenarios for these girls to interact in! Help? :)


	7. Lesson Seven: Physics

Another two weeks passed. For Santana, that was another two weeks of torture of a Chinese-water-dripping nature. It seemed like every passing day, the hands wandered just a fraction of an inch further up her forearms, nearly reaching that half-ticklish, half-erogenous inner elbow. The hugs lingered just a moment longer, and the cuddling in bed occurred with even fewer invitations. If Santana bought into religion for a moment, she'd surely be convinced that Brittany was her own personal Jezebel, put in position to test her every boundary of self-restraint and decency. Luckily, though, Santana wasn't Catholic. Maybe that only made Brittany a regular succubus…

For Brittany, it had been two weeks of utter futility and confusion. She loved the feel of Santana's skin beneath the palms and the shocks of electricity that each stroke and grasp evoked. She loved the warmth and solace that Santana let ooze out of her armor when they hugged. And, she especially loved how perfectly her slightly shorter body fit into hers when they laid in bed together.

At first, she thought that if she tried harder, initiated more contact, Santana would eventually get it; she'd realize how nice it felt and finally be able to relax and enjoy it. There was nothing better, in Brittany's mind, than this inexplicable mix of comfort and familiarity and exhilaration when they were alone together—something so surreal and confusing it was surely sublime. But, every time the blond managed to find herself in a contented gaze or hold of Santana, the other girl either looked away or frantically scanned the room as if to ensure the walls weren't about to crumble to the ground. There was no progress, and Brittany was seriously clueless as to why Santana didn't just _get it_. It felt so good to her, so why not her roommate?

Santana usually apologized and excused herself nervously or tried to force an abrupt change of topic. This would've discouraged Brittany over time if it weren't for the consolation prize she offered. She always noted the deflated, kicked-puppy expression on the blond's face when she pulled away and found herself melting on the inside for causing such disappointment and confusion. So, she'd offer up little things about herself—both to take the edge off her seemingly bristly exterior and to show the blond that she didn't mean to be so cold towards her.

Santana never thought the conversations were particularly important or insightful.

"I stopped working hard at school, but still did well. Sometimes, I wish I could actually bring myself to care, so I might actually be able to do something special."

"When my grandfather died, I couldn't sleep for almost three weeks afterwards. We weren't particularly close, but at his funeral, my grandmother bawled and said now she was going to die alone. I never thought about dying alone being anything more than a saying or movie cliché, but there she was, old and alone. It was real."

"Last year, my English teacher kept complimenting me for how well I was doing on my papers. It was kind of nice at first, but then she went overboard and started calling my parents and pushing me to apply for these summer programs. I ended up turning in a piece of shit I wrote in an hour for my final, just so she'd stop making such a big deal of it."

To Santana, they were little facts of nothing, tiny concessions on her part in order to keep things friendly with her roommate and ward off any awkwardness that might come from her constantly pulling away or wriggling out of hugs. To Brittany, all the little nothings made her not feel so bad about the curbed show of affection, because they started to add up to one big something: Santana trusted her and was letting Brittany know her. She might have thought her ramblings were just random distractions away from the physical contact, but by the way she normally clung to her laptop and MP3 player as shields from human interaction, Brittany knew that not everyone was privy to this information. What was blasé, biographical snippets to Santana was insight into a holed-up, insecure girl who couldn't seem to stop hiding—from no one in particular.

Today's diversion from the linked fingers was, "I really wish I had a talent—like, an artistic one—but I was always too uptight and boring to be creative."

Usually, Brittany was happy to observe quietly and take note of every little clue Santana was willing to give about herself. But at this, she perked up instantly with a smile. "You can be!"

The brunette chuckled, "I wish. I guess if I practiced something really hard, I could get good at it, like an instrument or something. But, that's not a talent. That's just discipline and hard work. It's a skill, not talent. Talent is something more natural."

"Well, you can be a natural. Come here." Brittany hopped off the bed and held her hands out for her roommate to follow.

Santana looked questioningly at the blond before slowly extending her hands. Brittany grabbed them eagerly, pulling the smaller girl's body into a standing position flush against her. Santana's eyes bugged open for a moment from the sudden proximity, but quickly started to ease down. Brittany forced these types of hugs all the time; she just hadn't been expecting it. "What are we doing?" she tried to ask coolly.

"Dancing," the blond responded matter-of-factly. When her roommate's face responded in confusion, she smiled widely and continued to explain. "It's the only art that you don't have to learn to do or be good at. If you tried to do any other art, like music or something, without taking any lessons or learning any rules, the first time would sound like banging on a piano with a hammer…or trying to teach your cat how to roll over when he's standing on the keys."

Santana's expression morphed into a grin. Somehow, she could totally see Brittany trying to teach her cat dog tricks. The image of the blond trying to talk sense and discipline into a lazy furball was possibly the most adorable thing in the world.

"You just have to be free. Only pay attention to your own body and your own place in space." Brittany's hands squeezed Santana's reassuringly, and the two shared a smile. "Or, if you have one, your partner's space."

The Latina tried to hide her gulp, as two confident hands wandered from her fingers to her side, then settled on her hips. "Here. Loosen up. Just follow my hands." Brittany's hands guided her roommate's body into a steady rhythm, as their bodies slid fluidly against each other.

Santana was mortified. She imagined this as one of those things that would be cute and fun if she were straight, but since she had a crush on Brittany, it was beyond awkward and potentially rather violating if the other girl knew just what the friction and gyrations were doing to her—both mentally and physically. She just stood there, her body arching and rocking under the command of Brittany's puppeteer hands. She didn't protest, but she was trying her damndest not to indulge.

It didn't take long for Brittany to notice that Santana wasn't getting into it and was starting to have her panicked, flight-or-flight-even-faster reaction. She smiled down at the Latina and took her hands in hers. "Seriously, relax. No one's looking." She gave Santana an assuring squeeze before pulling away to turn on her mp3 player dock.

The brunette couldn't help but arch her eyebrow in intrigue when hip-hop started to play. She wouldn't have expected Brittany, from all her suburbia Pleasantville roots, to be into this music, but the girl was nothing but an anomaly. "You're a regular baller, huh?" she smirked wryly at the blond.

"It has the best beats to dance to," Brittany responded with a matter-of-fact shrug, her obliviousness to the irony causing Santana's smile to widen.

Panic quickly resumed, however, when the blond's arms resumed their position around her, this time turning her in place so that her back was pressed against Brittany's chest. "Okay, this time, just relax. Or, I'll—I'll," Brittany paused to think. Being menacing wasn't in her normal arsenal. "I'll make you relax!" she giggled, fully aware of her hollow threat.

"Oh, no! Please not that relaxing again!" Santana chided between her own laughter.

Obviously, that plan of attack wasn't the right one, so Brittany defaulted into her usual: what Santana could only describe as being utterly adorable. "Try for me then?" the blond pouted.

Santana sighed, even though this battle was one she'd happily concede to. Her roommate was just trying to help her cut loose and have fun and was being super cute about it. She didn't want to poop on her party. So, she shut her eyes and gave Brittany a hopeless smile that she couldn't see from behind. "Fine."

"Yay!" Brittany cheered and placed one hand on Santana's hip, the other snaking around to lay flat on her abdominals. This time, though, instead of moving her roommate's body for her, she simply moved against her from behind.

Santana hesitated at first. It was either _grind_ with her roommate, practically taking advantage of her cluelessness, or come off as prickly and distant, thereby bruising her fun-loving spirit.

"_God damnit…"_ the brunette swore to herself. _"Oh, well. What mama don't know don't hurt her, right?"_ She'd spent half the semester weasling out of her roommate's hugs and compliments. It was only a matter of time before she actually got her feelings hurt or stopped trying with Santana, and Santana wanted neither of those. So, eyes still shut, she gave in, finding herself miraculously natural at how her arms, hips, shoulders dipped and swayed in time with Brittany's.

The blond beamed, as she saw herself finally breaking through. No longer afraid her intensity might scare Santana even further into her shell, Brittany's motions became more fluid and expressive, and she couldn't have been more pleased to notice the brunette reciprocate. Their bodies collided and drew apart in perfect sync with each other, without boundaries or inhibitions or even consciousness.

They continued on for two, maybe three songs before Brittany lowered her arms into a tight hug from behind. "See? Totally natural."

Santana snapped back into reality. She'd let herself go for the past ten minutes and was completely caught up in the tiny 3-foot bubble of her and Brittany moving against each other. She couldn't help but blush and feel a little guilty. Everything she promised weeks ago about not taking advantage, not indulging had just been temporarily scrapped, and she wasn't sure about how she felt about that compromise—even if it meant Brittany would've resumed her abandoned kitten stance if she'd rejected her.

"Heh," she forced out nervously. "We were talking about talent, though. Just because I can move doesn't mean I looked good."

Brittany laughed softly and pulled the embrace tighter. "Oh, you don't have to worry." She craned her neck over Santana's shoulder and placed a quick peck on her cheek. "You looked great."

Santana froze, utterly paralyzed. Every time she felt ashamed for fleecing her unknowing victim, for letting the touch linger a second too long, for daydreaming wistfully that the hugs and affection meant more than friendship, Brittany turned the tables on her. She pushed it one step further and further from linking pinkies to holding hands to cuddling in bed to grind and, just now, a kiss. It was like the harder she fought to maintain discipline and decency, the harder Brittany tempted her, gave her just the slightest glimpses of what she craved.

She smirked at the irony of her situation and how damn pathetic she seemed to be, caught up in it all. Delilah, Bathsheba, Jezebel, all those great temptresses from the Bible didn't have anything on Brittany. At least their prey _knew_ that they were wanted. Santana, on the other hand, was left more and more confused each time on whether Brittany was the clueless model of sweetness and innocence or, if in a reality outside of her hopeful mind, Brittany really did want something more.

Shrugging her way out of yet another hug, Santana knew she wouldn't be the one to pry further. She just had to accept the statistical and logical reality that Brittany wasn't like that, and she'd have to start drawing some lines before she'd already crossed them.. So, she sighed and went rustling for her laptop or mp3 player or anything of distraction. _"Succubus indeed…_"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The week proceeded without another confusing, overly affectionate—but secretly cherished to Santana—incident. Suddenly, the hugs and same-bed sleepovers lost their power to wrack her nerves; anything was easier to handle that something as ambiguous as a _kiss_. She groaned every time she thought about it, mostly towards herself, though. It was just a peck on the cheek. Friends do it all the time. Hell, complete strangers do it sometimes when greeting each other. She was just being her pathetic self again, grasping at straws of hope that don't exist and making a big deal out of an innocuous, friendly gesture.

She knew this. She knew there was nothing to obsess about, but yet she couldn't help it. It'd been clawing at her mind for days now, so much so that she was actually excited about this freshman class soccer tournament today. She wasn't one to look forward to these types of things normally, what with it being a forced interaction with a hundred-twenty people she didn't particularly like, as opposed to the more palatable sums of twenty she had to deal with in classes. But, maybe burning off some physical energy would keep her mind occupied.

It came as no surprise, then, that the two captains for her building were Quinn and one of her pawns. But, it did surprise her when she wasn't picked last for a team—or anywhere near the end. She knew she wasn't of Rachel Berry infamy, but still, it was a new feeling, not being a pariah. The pawn probably only chose her for some stupid reason like she looked fierce (she did) or she was freakishly competitive (she was) or maybe even that Latino people were supposed to be good at soccer (they were, bitch), but regardless, it was almost nice.

When Quinn heard Santana's name called by the opposing team, she grinned widely and called, "Britt."

Santana rolled her eyes. Quinn was obviously making no act of girl-war subtle, but whatever. She'd come out to burn energy and kick ass. She could do that without a friendly soul in sight.

Once teams had been arranged, the girls parted ways to face their respective brackets. The games ended at half an hour, or when the first team to scored twice. Santana left the gate running, nailing goals in both of her teams' first two games to help them along to the final game.

Fate must have laid a hand to arrange a clash of the titans, because, naturally, the other team in the last round was Quinn and Brittany's. Now, Santana adored her roommate and knew she was everything sweet and good in the world, but Quinn was going down. She knew Brittany wouldn't mind. After all, in order to make an omelet…

Nothing could have ignited the competitive drive in the Latina more than to realize that she and Quinn were playing mirrored positions on the field: center forward. Even though the first minutes of the game were relatively uneventful, with the sweepers playing some impenetrable defense, but Santana couldn't help but grin all the way through.

That is, until somehow, Quinn managed to weave past the midfielders and nestle herself into a potentially prime scoring position. Adrenaline and aggression coursed through Santana, as she bounded to the opposite side of the field to join the defenders in a role she had no place in playing. It didn't matter. Quinn _had_ to be stopped. She closed the longer distance faster than any of her teammates could and managed to intercept Quinn about twenty-five feet from the goal, but she found herself being tugged in a different direction.

Santana scowled. She saw red. She'd been close enough to Quinn and her teammates for the referees not to notice that another girl—a crony, of course—had actually held her back by her shirt to give Quinn a clearer path. By the team she could recover, the blond had launched a beautifully placed strike into the back of the net.

Quinn Fabray – 1. Santana Lopez – 0. _"Oh, hells no."_

To really light her fire, the opposing team gathered around Quinn to high-five and cheer her on, including Brittany. Did her roommate not _see_ the fuckery that had just taken place? Oh, it was so on.

The instant the ball was launched back in bounds after the goal, Santana leapt to butt it in her goal's direction and began charging down the field after it. Anything Quinn Fabray could do, she could do better. That was her mindset right now, and everyone else had to be okay with it, because, to them, it was the nature of competitive sports. It was a glorious guise. She quickly dusted past the opposing defenders and, taking a rather cavalier shot from forty feet away, fired a bullet past their goalkeeper. It was a reckless and probably extremely lucky shot that just caught their goalie off-guard, but all she could think was, _"Beat that, bitch."_

Her teammates squealed and bumped her in congratulations, but she was in no mood for pleasantries. It was tied. Now was the time to go for the jugular.

The other forwards and mid-fielders scrapped for another few minutes while Santana kept a patient, watchful eye for Quinn. She knew it wouldn't be long before the queen bee tried to reassert her dominance and close the game, and she'd be right there to sweep down on her.

The ball rolled languidly to Santana's goalie, who picked it up and punted it safely into the other team's territory. She perked up and started to sprint. Now was the time to kill.

With an impressive athleticism, she swept the ball from a defender's path right as she aimed to punt it back across the midfield line and deadheaded for the goal. Somehow, Quinn managed to appear from nowhere and nip right on her heels as she dribbled in zigzags to find the perfect angle to shoot. At this moment, she was one-thousand percent convinced that this girl existed only to be the perfect and ceaseless thorn in her side. And in light of that, she _had_ to beat her.

But as with her social authority, Quinn hadn't been chosen captain for no reason. For a forward, she was turning out to be quite the defensive pain in her ass, reaching in for steals, occasionally outpacing her to cut her off her current trajectory. If Santana didn't have a history with her, she might almost have respected the other girl's aggressive edge. Unfortunately, there was history, and she just wanted to bring her down.

She finally got to just the right position. There was no one between her and the goal except Quinn, and their goalkeeper was stupidly angled to be out of range of any shot she could make. The only problem was Quinn. That is, the only problem in the _real_ world or the _girl_ world was Quinn. But, this wasn't either of those; this was the sports world, the physically competitive world, and it was perfectly acceptable to what she was about to do in this world.

With Quinn about five feet from her, Santana stood with one foot resting on the ball, as if contemplating which way to go around her defender. Quinn smirked and began to shuffle from left to right. Santana smirked even wider. She wasn't going left or right. She was going through.

She released the ball from its stop and began to run directly towards Quinn who, admittedly admirable, stood her ground. If Santana full-out tackled her, she'd be yellow carded for sure. But, right at the last moment, the Latina took a single step aside and fell back to a skid, sending the ball flying into the goal with her body sliding across the ground beneath one of the blond's legs. There was no full-body contact, no penalty, just feet tangling with legs as tends to happen during soccer. There was, however, the sweetest symphony of thuds and crumpling as Quinn had her support swept from under her, and she toppled over her, head first.

Santana Lopez – 2. Quinn Fabray – 1.

Her teammates threw up their arms and cheered, and a few of them ran up and shoulder-bumped her or slapped her rear. It was, after all, technically fair, especially more so than shirt grabbing. Whether it was part of the "collegiality" of St. Anne's was another issue.

Santana proudly wore a grin during the immediate rush before she felt herself being lifted off the ground and twirled around. "Great shot, San! That was awesome!"

Her grin eased into a smile as her roommate and "opponent" bear hugged her from behind. "Ooof!" she chuckled. "Thanks, but back off, Britt. I'm all disgusting and sweaty right now."

Brittany giggled in return. "So am I. Are you trying to say you're scared of _my_ sweaty germs?"

"Oh, no, of course not. I'm sure they're the sweetest smelling, cleanest germs around, and roses really smell like poopoo."

The blond let go of her roommate and gave her a playful push. Santana hadn't seemed to get over how funny it was she liked some rap. "Thanks, I'll be sure to share more with you."

To prove Santana's prior theory that Quinn only existed at inopportune times for inopportune purposes, she jogged up to the pair, fully recovered from her tumble. "Nice play style, Santana," she smirked, thinly veiling her sarcasm and bitterness.

"Yeah, good game, Quinn. Can't win them all, right?" Santana responded with just as much syrupy fakeness.

"It seems that way…" the shorter blond trailed off before snapping attention back to Brittany. "Team trip to the snack bar? I want a smoothie."

"Oh, yeah!" the dancer nodded enthusiastically. "See you soon, San!" She bounced up one last time and wrap Santana in a sweaty, mushy, yet somehow pleasant hug before turning away.

Santana almost felt the glory of victory sucked out of her as she watched the two blonds head off together with the rest of their team when Rachel came jogging up to her. "Hello, Santana!" she greeted cheerily.

She was dressed in her usual tights, pleated skirt, and button down and had clearly not participated in the tournament. "Hey. You didn't play?"

"Oh, no. I've found that intensive stress on my lung capacity in athletics really weakens my voice in the short-term."

"Oh…uh huh," Santana muttered. She'd been spending time with Rachel sporadically throughout the past few weeks, but she still didn't know how to respond to her sometimes. With other people, her instinctive reaction would be to be snarky and insulting, but she tried to temper herself around the tiny brunette, since she was apparently some sort of confidant and boon to her. So, sometimes she said nothing, which was the best she could do.

"I was watching you, however. I thoroughly enjoyed the Lopez-Fabray showdown and your questionable sportsmanship," Rachel chirped, attempting to revive the conversation.

"Hey, that was totally legal, and she could've moved."

The smaller girl threw up her hands in peace. "I don't know anything about soccer, but I'll take your word as the more honorable of the two."

"Thanks," Santana intoned smugly. Maybe it _was_ a little unsportsmanlike, but she deserved it, and it was merely one of the many battles Quinn had arranged between the two of them. The other, well…not as much clear-cut success.

Rachel remained silent, watching her friend's expression flow from smug to thoughtful to almost deflated. She turned her neck to see that the object of the Latina's gaze, and she held her smile. She was so damn obvious.

"You know, you're super cute with her."

"Ugh. Don't. Sarcasm doesn't suit you. Quinn and I are basically mortal enemies."

The singer couldn't help but burst into laughter, even though it earned her a measured scowl from Santana. She didn't want to be rude, but the other girl was either clueless or as good at covering her tracks as the tyrannosaurus rexes were. "Not Quinn. You and Brittany."

"What?" Santana asked sharply.

"The two of you, you're cute," Rachel responded, unfazed by the ostensible hostility.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean she's all over you, and I never see you smile or laugh like that with _anyone_ except her."

"That's just how Britt is. She could make friends with anyone and is one of those touchy-feely girly girls."

"Uh huh. I try not to swear, but this situation requires it. I call bullshit!"

Santana let out an exasperated groan. "What's bullshit?"

"That she's like that with everyone. I see Brittany with Quinn and the rest of the housewifey, cheerleading camp, and she never gets as physically affectionate with them as she does you. And then, she smiles at you like you've just saved the world, even though all you did was take Quinn Fabray down—not that those two are highly unrelated. She's just—"

"What?" the Latina interrupted with an annoyed and smug look in her eyes. "She's what?"

"She's so into you! There! I said it."

Santana scoffed, "Ha. Unlikely, Berry. She just lives in a world that's all innocence and happiness and has no mysterious intentions behind her hugs. To her, she's just being friendly and sweet."

"I don't—"

"Uh uh. Trust me. I live with this girl."

Rachel shook her head and smiled in defeat. Santana was a stubborn girl, and prodding at her sore spots was only going to get her to shut down harder. She'd drop it, for now.

But, she couldn't help but grin with the same certainty that Santana had, since the Latina did nothing to deny how _she_ felt about Brittany. Even if she wanted to, she was as subtle as a jackhammer to the head about that anyways. Brittany, as well, wasn't far behind, what with the pinkies and neck nestling and arm-linking. She felt the same way, and it was only a matter of time. Rachel was sure. Santana might see herself as some immovable object, but Brittany was her unstoppable force. Even a singer knew enough physics to know they both can't exist. The girls would eventually get together. If they kept up this wretchedly slow pace, she'd even see to it herself.

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Thank you all for hanging in there and being patient with MY wretchedly slow pace in updating. It's been a hard past month for me personally, but I'm back (hopefully) to get this show on the road again.

Also, I feel like I dated myself _so_ badly with that roses/poopoo reference. That song was a big deal when I was a freshman or sophomore schoolgirl myself, so if any of the younger readers out there catch it, hooray for you :D


	8. Lesson Eight: Foreign Languages

So, Brittany broke all our hearts in Sexy, but Naya saved us all at Paleyfest :D Now, there's a 4 week hiatus (ridiculous!), and Bartie is still on. This sounds like the perfect time for an update/more Brittana in the world, huh?

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"Yeah, Mommy, everything's going great!" Brittany chirped into her cell.

It was Saturday morning, and instead of sleeping until lunch like a normal teen, the blond called home to her family every week. If it were anyone but Brittany and if it weren't so sweet, Santana would be annoyed that this was her wakerupper every weekend morning.

Santana heard a muffled, feminine voice coming through Brittany's end of the receiver, then somehow felt the smile knocked right off the blond's face, despite the fact that her eyes were closed and she was still pretending to be asleep. Maybe it was because the blond was always radiating energy and optimism, and, for a split second after whatever her mom said, she was brought to stillness.

"Oh, umm, yeah, those are coming up."

More Charlie Brown noises sounded out unintelligibly to Santana across the room.

"Don't worry," the blond laughed nervously. "I am."

Santana's ears perked up, and she shifted slightly in bed. She'd never heard her roommate get nervous before, especially when talking to her mother. From what she'd gleaned from eavesdropping on one-half their phone conversations every week, they had an awesome, really casual relationship with each other.

"Well…" Brittany began to drawl out hesitantly. "Ummm…Monday. Spanish."

At this, the voice on the other end became animated, though not angry, and Santana's sixth sense felt the blond cringe and tense up in the middle of the room. "You don't have to worry. I will, Mom. Talk to you later this week? … Alright, love you, too!"

Santana heard Brittany's cell phone hit the desk, followed immediately by an exasperated groan. Before she could react, her roommate's familiar body collapsed onto her bed beside her, causing both girls to bounce slightly on the coils.

"What's wrong, Britt?" the Latina offered groggily, trying to pretend that she'd been sleeping and hadn't been telepathically sensing her roommate's discomfort.

"Oh, hey, San. I'm sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep." Brittany draped one arm over the smaller girl's waist and started to curl into a spooning position.

Santana "suddenly" blinked herself fully awake and turned against Brittany's arm, so the two of them were lying on their sides facing each other. "No, what's up? You're all stressed out."

"It's nothing," Brittany muttered shyly and tried to duck her head into her roommate's neck, away from eye contact.

"Uh uh, sunshine. This isn't like you. What's up?"

The blond, now buried in the crook of Santana's neck, let out a muffled whine. "It's not a big deal, really. I'm just making it one."

"Tell me."

"My mom was just asking when midterms were and how I was doing in my classes. And, like, all the women in my family went to St. Anne's and did really well and were in all these groups. I'm usually okay with not being good at school. I know it's not my strong point. But, it's going to be really embarrassing being the dumb Pierce or the Pierce that didn't rock the St. Anne's experience."

Brittany nuzzled further into her roommate's neck, as if trying to disappear into it. Santana couldn't help but blush awkwardly. This was the first time that Brittany had shown any insecurities or dissatisfaction with herself. She'd been sad before, yes, but never with herself

Santana reached out tentatively, her fingertips gently grazing the blond's cheeks. She couldn't help but feel awkward with herself; it was always the blond who initiated contact, and she was still a stranger to showing affection. Receiving it was new enough. But when Brittany turned her face to welcome the contact, she grew somewhat bolder, cupping the blond's cheeks and stroking it tenderly.

"Hey," she called quietly, her hand running down her cheek to tilt her chin up. "Look at me." Brittany obeyed and shared her worried look with the brunette. "Don't think like that. You're going to do great."

The blond tried to force out a smile, but clearly let her sadness seep through. "Thanks, San, but I'm sure you've noticed I'm not the best at getting good grades."

Santana couldn't help but mimic the solemn expression the blond wore. How Brittany thought she was anything but perfect in every way was beyond her. It hurt that she didn't know that, more than it should have when she knew—rationally—that she should've bought into that whole "no one is perfect" proverb.

By now, Brittany had re-hidden in Santana's neck, so the brunette ran her hand down a creamy arm and squeezed. "You will. I know you will."

Brittany groaned, apparently in disbelief. Santana couldn't help but smile genuinely this time. She hated seeing Brittany unhappy with herself, but the pouting was so damn cute. "Come on. I'll help you. I'm going to make sure you rock it."

"Really?" the blond asked in a small voice.

The Latina chuckled; Brittany was way too adorable like this. "Yeah, duh, girl. That's what roommates are for."

She felt Brittany's lips curl into a smile against her skin. "You're so sweet."

Again, Santana couldn't suppress her laughter. She'd been called many things, but sweet was never one of them. "Haha, hardly, Britt, but I guess I can be for today. We'll hit the books tonight after mass. You and I are having a hot date with the Spanish textbook on a Saturday night. That's how we roll."

Brittany giggled, and the brunette's smile widened, as her roommate's normal levity and nonchalance returned. "But, it's like 9 a.m., and that means it's way too early to function." She rested her chin firmly on top of that blond head of hair, and declared, "For now, back to sleep. Study later."

"Okay." Brittany sighed calmly and pulled Santana flusher into her body.

Santana started to relax back into her Saturday morning ritual of unconsciousness when the torture she thought she'd forced herself to become desensitized to recurred, more intense than ever. The blond lifted her face from Santana's neck just enough to place a soft, but unambiguous kiss on her caramel skin. "Best roommate ever." She smiled contentedly and resumed their cradling position.

At that, Latina's nerves erupted. She was so not falling back asleep now.

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"Mercado."

"Umm..." Brittany stuttered and chewed on her bottom lip.

"How about _super_mercado?"

"Oh! Supermarket. Market."

"Right," Santana said, as she smiled at the blond, who beamed back.

"Maquillarse."

Brittany paused and gave her roommate a puzzled plea for help. Santana mimicked applying mascara and smacked her lips together. "Putting on makeup?"

"It's the infinitive form of it, but yes, to put on makeup. Okay, sentences. El canta una balada."

The blond face screwed up even more than before. "What?" Santana prodded. Brittany was looking at her like she was crazy.

"He's singing a male duck?"

It was Santana's turn to be thoroughly confused. "Close…" she tried to keep her voice light and supportive. "He sings a ballad."

"Oh, I guess it's not a cognate like I thought it was."

"Yeah, didn't Schuester give us some sample questions we had to respond to? Why don't we try talking through them?" She flipped open Brittany's binder and pulled out one of the study guide worksheets. She slid the sheet in between them, prompting the blond to scoot closer and reach out to intertwine their fingers.

She cleared her throat and tried to keep her mind on the task at hand: she was supposed to be helping Brittany, not having her crush antics. "Dónde quieres pasar las vacaciones?"

"Umm, Holanda."

"Ah, ah, ah! Oración completa, chica." Santana smirked, enjoying her self-annointed teacher authority.

"Quiero visitar la Holanda."

"Good girl," the brunette quipped again smugly, earning her a playful slap on the shoulder.

"Don't get used to all that power, Missy," Brittany retorted with a smirk of her own.

"Can you say that in Spanish?"

"Ummm…" she paused and darted her gaze all around the room playfully. "No, not at all, actually," she laughed.

"Hahaha, okay, back to the script then, my feisty little pupil. Eres una hija única?"

"No, tengo una hermano."

"Una hermana, with an A."

"Right, una hermana."

"Como se llama tu hermana?"

"Katie."

Santana quirked her eyebrow mischievously and cleared her throat. Brittany just groaned and smiled back knowingly. "Se llama Katie, mi profesora mala."

"Pórtate bien, Brittbritt!" It was her turn to give the blond a disciplinary slap on the wrist.

"Agh! Me duelo la muñeca!" Brittany exclaimed dramatically.

Santana giggled in return before gently correcting. "When you use reflexive verbs like hurt, you conjugate the verb for the body part, not you. You're literally saying 'My wrist hurts me,' so you use hurts instead of hurt. The same way you wouldn't say 'My wrist hurt me,' in English. So, in Spanish, that's 'Me duele la muñeca.' Does that make sense?"

"I think so…" the blond muttered hesitantly.

Santana could tell that Brittany was starting to feel a little over her head, so she tried to draw her back to the rigid curriculum Mr. Schuester had laid out. Admittedly, not much could be learned in one quarter of Spanish, but foreign languages were clearly not second nature to Brittany. She couldn't fault her for taking more time on the uptake when she'd been lucky enough to grow up with it, even if the material seemed simple to her.

"Describe tu mejor amigo o amiga."

"Well..."

"Bien..." Santana urged. The more Spanish Brittany was forced to use, the faster she'd improve.

"Bien, es la más bonita chica que yo sé."

"You use conozco for knowing people instead of sé. Saber is for, like, facts," the Latina interrupted politely.

"Okay...erm, bien, es muy bonita e inteligente chica que conozco."

Santana nodded approvingly, and Brittany smiled proudly in response. "Es tan amable y amo ella porque yo _s__é, for a fact_," she grinned at her emphasis. "Que es perfecta para mi."

Brittany released Santana's hand from her hold and started to run her fingers up and down the tan forearm. The Latina began to tense up self-consciously. She wasn't sure if this was a coincidence, just Brittany being Brittany and being affectionate all the time, or if she was trying to tell her something.

As always, she assumed the safer route and tried to roll the comment off. "You must really miss her."

"Only when she's not around." The glint in those blue eyes only confused Santana further. It felt like Brittany was smirking knowingly at her, keeping some naughty secret in check and teasing Santana for not catching on. _"And wait, did she use present tense? Like, not a friend from home?"_

Santana's mouth was hanging open slightly, as she processed her thoughts, which allowed Brittany to take over the conversation. "Can you speak to me in Spanish? Not, like, with class stuff, but just talk? I love just hearing you speak. You sound so...confident."

The brunette blushed and noticed she'd been awkwardly silent. "Okay…what do you want me to say?"

"Anything. Just talk."

"Okay," Santana paused thoughtfully. It was hard enough to think of things to say in English. Sure, she could speak fluently, but speaking in stream of consciousness on demand was surprisingly harder. Then, she realized, she could get it all out in the air, lift some of the burden of silence and self-restraint with impunity; Brittany's Spanish was still spotty and elementary enough that she could say what she needed to say without her understanding, especially if she spoke quickly enough.

"Alright, ready?" The blond nodded slowly with a pleased and expectant look. "Bien, en el momento en el que nos conocimos, supe que eras mi angel personal, todo lo bueno y perfecto en la vida. Menti cuando dije que nadie me habia hecho sentir tan bien y feliz como solo Dios podria hacerlo. Eres tu. Tu me haces sentir todos estas cosas increibles y sublimes, y para mi, eres perfecta en todo sentido. Desearia poder decirte todo esto y que tu entiendas, pero no puedo. Eres demasiado perfecta para mi. No puedo arruinarte."

Santana blurted everything out as quickly as she could, knowing that it would make it near impossible to understand to a novice speaker. Even still, she couldn't help but blush at her confession. Everything she'd bottled up despite the showers of affection and the ambiguous comments and looks had just spilled out, but instead of feeling a wave of relief and honesty, she couldn't help but panic that she'd let herself go too far.

Mercifully, Brittany's expression hadn't changed through her mini-speech. She was still looking on and smiling adoringly. "I love your accent. You sound so sexy and smart when you rattle on in another language," she giggled.

Santana sent a thank you out to the universe that everything she said seemed lost on the blond, missing the hint of flirtation in the blond's comment in her preoccupation. She took a deep breath and tried to reel the focus back to their coursework. She'd had enough awkwardness and risk-taking for now.

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By the time the girls had worked through all the vocabulary lists and practice scenarios Mr. Schuester had provided, they had already spent several hours studying. It took time, as Brittany tended to have at least one error in every sentence she strung together, but Santana took the time to correct her with a gentle smile each time, careful not to discourage the blond about in an obviously sensitive time.

Once they ran through the last chapter of vocabulary, Santana leaned back with an accomplished smile. "If you can do as well as I've seen you're capable of doing, I think you'll do great on Monday. No, I know you will."

The blond looped her arm around Santana's and rested her head on her shoulder. "Thank you, San. For everything, especially being so patient with me. I know I'm not the fastest learner, and you could've been doing a lot better things with your time."

"Better than spending time with my roommate? No such thing," Santana chuckled out. She meant for it to sound like a joke, but it didn't come out as one. Maybe it would've helped if she actually could've thought of anything she'd rather do than be huddled over a desk with Brittany for hours.

"Well, anyways, thank you. I feel much better than I did this morning thanks to you. You're the best, babe." She hugged her roommate firmly and leaned in to peck her quickly on the cheek.

"You're welcome, Britt. Seriously, anytime. I'm happy to help." Santana squeezed back as nonchalantly as she could, despite the fact that her heart was pounding, and she could feel a red flush flooding to her cheeks. It was going to take a while for her not to react like this; this kissing thing was totally the worst new habit Brittany could throw at her. "It's getting pretty late. We should probably get to bed."

"I'm just going to look over a few things again to make sure I know it, since we won't be able to stay up late tomorrow to study."

"Okay, don't overwork yourself."

"Haha, well, there's no danger of that when it comes to me and schoolwork."

"Good. Night, girl." Santana gave her a parting squeeze before moving across the room and settling into bed.

Brittany watched her disappear into the sheets and looked on to make sure Santana wasn't going to pop back up to change pajamas or use the restroom. Once her breathing had slowed and her body stilled, the blond smiled at the peacefulness of the sight and turned to flip through her Spanish-English dictionary.

Admittedly, she didn't understand what Santana had said earlier, but she was listening more than attentively to catch certain phrases to remember to look up later. The frantic pace and shaky voice made it pretty obvious that she was saying something she didn't want Brittany to understand, which only made the blond think it was all the more important to know.

_Todo lo bien y perfecto en la vida_ – everything good and perfect in life

_Mentí _– I lied

_S__entir todas esas cosas increible_ – feel all these incredible things

_No puedo arruinarte_ – I can't ruin you

It took a while for her to work through, word by word, the few phrases she remembered, then to compare them to the conjugation charts in the textbook, so she could actually understand. After fifteen minutes of scribbling the translations down on her notebook and stringing the meanings together, Brittany sported a radiant, ecstatic smile. She at least caught enough "tus" to know her roommate was talking about her, and finally, it all made sense.

She thought she'd been pretty successful at understanding when Santana was hiding something and when she wanted to let her in. She thought she understood when to push further and when to respect her boundaries. She thought she was nearly fluent in interpreting Santana's body and spoken language. But, until now, she never understood _why_ the Latina was often so uneasy and so reluctant to reciprocate. Whether she meant to or not, Santana had laid it all out for her.

She was scared. That's why she lied about not loving and returning the affection Brittany constantly showed her. But, in Brittany's mind, she was scared for the most adorable and unnecessary reasons. She held and cuddled with Santana, because she _wanted to_, and she _wanted_ her to do the same. There was no ruining or hidden motivation and certainly no fear of having her "perfection" defiled; she meant to invite the affection, not scare it away.

But, it didn't matter, not now, not when she finally knew. Santana didn't shun her and tense up, because she didn't like it. She wanted it, but didn't want to let herself want it. And, that was so much better than the prospect of Santana actually not craving the closeness and tenderness the same way she did.

She thought she'd been pretty dang obvious that she wanted to be closer to Santana in all her gestures and compliments, but apparently, she was going to have to spell it out for her. She did love to over-think the simplest things, after all. She decided it was fine, though. If Santana could have the patience to go over the same verbs and vocabulary with her for hours, she would happily keep trying to convince her that sometimes, the obvious and intentional should be treated as the obvious and intentional—no re-interpretation, no translation necessary.

Fully satisfied by this knowledge, she laid in bed behind her roommate and pulled her into a warm embrace. "No te preocupes, San. I want it, too" she whispered softly before placing another chaste kiss on her neck.

In her sleep, Santana let out a short, accepting "Mmm." Brittany couldn't help but chuckle silently. She really did get it better when she couldn't think about it.

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Thank you for reading : ) It's been five or six years since I took Spanish, and I was pretty far from a proficient speaker even though. So, PLEASE forgive me if I butchered those translations. I will happily correct them. This is the full version of what I/Santana was attempting to say, not just the snippets Brittany translated:

"The moment we met, I knew you were my personal angel, everything good and perfect in life. I lied when I said no one had made me feel so good and happy that only god could be responsible. It's you. You make me feel all these sublime and incredible things, and to me, you're perfect in every way. I wish I could tell you this and have you understand, but I can't. You're too perfect for me. I can't ruin you."

A few weeks ago, I'd say this is way too sappy Santana to ever be able to say out loud to a conscious and understanding Brittany, but after "Sexy," who knows… ;)


	9. Lesson Nine: Loveology

Huge thank you to those who helped me with my Spanish last chapter, particularly slayerwannabes-r-hot and melux85 :)

Also, if you know the song that I took this chapter's namesake from, we should be friends. In my opinion, she's truly one of the most talented and creative artists alive. I highly suggest listening to it (Google search will do it). It's particularly fitting for this chapter :D

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"Santanaaaaaa!" Brittany sing-songed down their dormitory hallway. She burst into their bedroom and found her roommate sitting on her bed, typing furious and looking severely annoyed.

"Hey," the blonde offered softly, her prior excitement giving way to concern. She tossed her backpack down and then crawled onto Santana's bed, curling herself into her roommate's side and resting her head on her shoulder.

"Hey, Britt," Santana mumbled, her frustration very thinly veiled.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Kind of. I mean, no, not really."

Brittany reached out for one of Santana's hands that was still pounding mercilessly on the keyboard, stilling it and then squeezing it tightly. "What's up?"

The Latina tried, in vain, to finish her bitter e-mail singlehandedly, but quickly gave up. Her right hand was practically useless. She sighed heavily and looked into those bright blue eyes. A few months ago, if someone had caught her in this mood and tried to physically restrain her, they would have been in a world of hurt…literally. How quickly the mighty have fallen.

"It's nothing really. I'm just really annoyed with my parents right now."

Brittany stared back, contently listening and urging her to continue.

"They just sent me this," she picked up a new iPhone and then tossed it back onto her desk. "It's for my birthday next week, which was nice of them or something, but then my mom e-mailed me and said they won't be able to visit, since my dad's going to be at some medical conference, but she hopes I enjoy the gift."

Brittany frowned visibly, but seemed more sad than irritated like Santana was. Thinking her roommate didn't quite get it, Santana continued, "It just pisses me off that they think I need an expensive gift as a consolation prize. I mean, I get it. My dad's a doctor and is really busy, and it's okay that they can't visit. But, I don't need to be bought off. I'm not that much of a spoiled brat."

"You're not a spoiled brat at all. You're like the most genuine and relaxed person here," Brittany consoled while stroking her thumb in circles over her roommate's palm.

Santana let loose a bitter chuckle. Being called relaxed was almost as outrageous as when Brittany accused her of being sweet. "Thanks, B."

"What's so funny? I mean it!"

"Nothing. I'm hardly laid back, but I appreciate you trying to make me feel better."

"I wasn't making it up," the blonde insisted with a hint of a pout. Santana's hardened smirk melted into a sincere smile at the sight; it was way too damn cute.

"Explain," she ordered the blonde, who had started to beam back at her.

"I mean I never have to worry about silly things like how frazzled I look or not being up on the latest gossip and fashion or not understanding what's going on in class around you. I'm just me around you. I mean, I'm me around everyone, but I can't help but feel like the other girls are constantly wondering about me. I never get that with you." Brittany cut her ramble short and pushed Santana's laptop aside. She tugged gently on the other girl's hands to force her to sit squarely facing her and intertwined both their hands.

Santana caught herself very obviously staring and blushing and immediately shifted her gaze down. Brittany was clearly being honest, so denying her words in her self-deprecatory fashion would have just been annoying at this point. All she could do is glance around nervously at the flattery and mutter back, "Thanks, B. You're the only one who I can be myself around, too."

The blonde's smile radiated when she saw her roommate's bashful response. She pushed the girl down on the bed, and the two resumed a very familiar cradling position.

Santana breathed in slowly and hummed out in comfort. Somehow, all her anger had been wiped clean, and she was happy she hadn't pressed the Send button on the scathing e-mail she'd written to her mother. Ambiguity aside, this girl really had a magical hold over her.

Then, she remembered the especially peppy mood Brittany had had when she walked in. "Hey," Santana interrupted their peaceful silence. "What were you so excited about earlier? I'm sorry I killed your mood and distracted you."

"You didn't ruin my mood at all. I was just coming in to thank you, so it was supposed to be all about you anyways…as always" Brittany giggled.

"Yeah, yeah," the Latina chuckled sarcastically. "So what is it, blondie?"

"I got my midterm back from Mr. Schu. I got an A-!" Brittany wiggled excitedly on her side. Santana might've paused to note how freaking adorable this was, but she was truly blown away by the news.

"Seriously, B? That's _awesome_! I'm so proud of you!"

"I'm really, really happy about this."

"You should be. You did so great, girl. Did you tell your mom?"

"Not yet. I will later, though. I don't think she'll believe me." The blonde giggled happily.

"Sure, she will. I'm sure she knew you would do well." Santana paused and shifted her gaze down her roommate's body. Even in their dorky plaid skirts and button-down, pressed shirts, Brittany managed to be so adorable and beautiful. "I did," she mumbled quietly before reaching up and twirling Brittany's silky, blond hair between her fingers. Her play turned subconsciously into more intentional strokes of her fingers through her blond locks, which finally elicited a response from the taller girl.

"Mmm, thank you, San, but I owe you. Like, a ton."

"No, you don't. I'm happy to help."

"Uh uh," Brittany stated firmly, catching Santana's hand in her own and holding it against her cheek.

Realizing what she'd been doing, Santana began to blush furiously again.

"There's no way I could have even passed without you. Plus, it's your birthday! I have to do _something_ for you."

The Latina's mouth fell open to respond, but Brittany quickly interjected. "No buts! It won't be anything too much or embarrassing. I promise," she grinned.

Santana cursed that smile for being so damn infectious and finally let her own expression crack. A content expression captured her face, and she settled back into the blonde's arms. There was really no hope for her standing up to this girl.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Friday afternoons were normally a bittersweet experience for Brittany. On one hand, she was still in class, and the weekend was held dangling and tauntingly in front of her. On the other, it meant the week winded down with Quinn and "Sister" Holliday's religious studies class, which was practically in-school vacation in itself.

How that woman got to teach the class was utterly beyond the comprehension of every student. The rumor was that Ms. Holliday came in to substitute for the much more elderly, stately nun who'd taught the class for decades when she was having cataract surgery. The one time she returned to see what Sister Holliday was doing with her class, she left and never returned. No one knows why, but it probably had much to do with the fact that she had practically transformed the class into glorified movie time. She either popped in some children's Sunday school tapes while the girls slept or did their homework, or she'd ramble on about pop culture and celebrity gossip, always sure to end the class by telling the girls that the stars' partying and promiscuous ways were not to be followed by proper, God-fearing young women. This was always followed by a wink.

The blonde didn't seem to see as many of the downsides to this Friday afternoon class the same way her classmates did. This was likely attributable to the fact that she was the only student who actually paid attention to those Veggie Tales episodes, laughed along, and cooed over that little Junior Asparagus. Even Santana had to admit that that little sideways ball cap was kind of cut, but she couldn't get over the fact that vegetables were trying to draw her back into a faith that the fear of fire and brimstone couldn't.

Brittany arrived on time and settled into her seat next to Quinn and Jess, since Sister Holliday had told them last week that they'd be watching the "King George and the Ducky" episode, and she didn't want to miss any of it. The rest of the girls trickled in casually after the bell had rung and adjusted their desks, so they could proceed to whisper and look over at each other's smart phones throughout class. Class officially started several minutes ago, but it was normal for Ms. Holliday to run late and dismiss early, another upside of this class.

But, when over ten minutes had passed, Brittany became slightly disappointed that they wouldn't have time to finish the episode, or worse, they'd be held there the entire class period without any entertainment.

Right as all the girls had whipped out their phones to text or play Angry Birds, a thin, tall woman stormed into the room and slammed the door loudly behind her. The students all jerked their attention to the front of the room, as Sister Holliday never made such an entrance. Brittany recognized her immediately as Sue Sylvester, the headmistress who always glared menacingly from behind the pulpit at mass. And from the way her classmates' eyes bulged and mouths hung slightly open, she had the feeling that this woman was far from the disciplinarian that Ms. Holliday was.

Sister Sylvester stomped purposefully to the teacher's desk and threw her books down with a loud thud, silencing anyone who was careless enough to have been too busy chatting to notice who had arrived.

"Quiet!" she barked, even though the command was useless now in the terrified, silent room. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not Sister Holliday. She called in sick today, and since I'm the only competent educator within miles, I have to do practically everything, including taking over this class."

The headmistress circled her desk and began to pace menacingly back and forth the front row of students.

"Now, my underlings in the faculty underestimated my supersonic hearing and thought I never heard all their whispering about how religious studies class had degenerated into a vapid, intellectually bankrupt mockery of a study hall. So, lucky you, my hopeless pupils, because I plan on grilling you today with what you _should_ be learning in here. This is a Catholic school for Christ's sake, so everyone wins when this class is taught properly. You don't turn into godless harlots, your parents get their money's worth when you don't turn into teenaged tramps, and I don't have to run a school full of Sodomites."

Brittany wasn't quite sure what Sister Sylvester was so upset about, especially when it came to this class; it was one of her favorites, and Ms. Holliday was always exciting and personable. But, she understood well enough that it felt like she was getting yelled at, and she hated that feeling. She looked around at her classmates, who were all paying rapt attention and jittering nervously. This was definitely not going to be as fun as it is with Ms. Holliday.

When she turned back to face the front of the class, Sister Sylvester had halted her pacing right in front of her desk and was boring her glare in her direction.

"Barbie!" she snarled, pointing at Brittany. "What did Holliday say you were going to do today?"

Brittany began to chew anxiously on her lower lip, which had inadvertently been trembling. "Umm…" she stuttered. "Watching Veggie Tales," she muttered weakly.

"Ugh! Just as bad as I expected," Sue growled and bee-lined for the books she had thrown on her desk earlier. "Children's cartoons at St. Anne's. Utterly disgraceful!" she continued to rant. "When I was in school, we had theology every day and could recite the Bible and canonical thinkers in our sleep. In fact, I have several video tapes of myself doing exactly just that. The Secret Service has been trying to study my REM sleep's alpha waves for years because of it."

"Thomas Aquinas, Augustine, Grotius." Sue picked up one book at a time, reciting its author, showing it to the class, and slamming it back on the desk before proceeding to the next. "This is what real Catholics learn in religious studies, _not_ singing tomatoes and cucumbers."

She took a moment to survey the class. Pausing and glaring, she wanted to make sure each one had been properly mortified and intimidated before she continued. "Have you ever studied these, Barbie?"

Brittany's eyes lit up in fear. It was bad enough being called on other classes that she'd at least tried to understand and prepare for. To have it happen here, with Sister Sylvester's so-not-Ms.-Holliday pressure was worlds worse. "N-n-no," she finally managed.

"Again, just what I expected. So, let's start at step one of Catholic theology: God. Some of you have heard about him, right? Or, should I tell all your parents that I need to increase tuition, because you need _that_ much more work from your teachers?"

No one responded verbally, but some of the less scared-stiff girls nodded, prompting Sue to snatch one of her books from her desk and begin writing on the board.

"_One must only love God, for only God is eternal, and all earthly love will someday pass away."_

After she'd finished writing the statement, she snapped back, eyes still fixated on Brittany. This was so not her lucky day. "Alright. What does this statement mean? It can't get more simple than that."

"Umm…that we should only love God?" Brittany offered uncertainly.

"Well, at least your brilliance is living up to your looks," Sue chided back. "Do you agree with that statement by St. Augustine?"

Brittany wasn't sure if this was a trick question. Sister Sylvester had just said that all students should be reading this Augustine's books, but was this some sort of trap for her to admit she didn't love her family or friends?

"I…umm… I don't think so," she all but whimpered without confidence.

"You don't," Sue intoned smugly. "And would you care to explain why you know better than one of the fathers of the Catholic church?"

"Because…" Brittany tried to start strong, but felt the crushing judgment of her headmistress bearing down on her. "People should love each other, too. I love my family and friends and—"

Before she could continue, she heard Quinn clear her throat very loudly and shoot her hand up. Sue quirked an eyebrow, seemingly annoyed that someone wanted to interrupt her making an example of and humiliation of Brittany. "What is it, other Barbie?"

"I think what Brittany means to say is that even though we love each other, God should be our first and strongest love. It's the most important love any of us could have and the only one we all need."

"But—" Brittany almost interrupted. She hadn't meant that at all. But, when Quinn shot her a glance that screamed "shut up," she resume chewing her lower lip. "Right, thanks, Q."

Sue's disapproving stare had shifted to Quinn, and she watched the two blondes interact with intent judgment. "Well, Skipper, despite your efforts to bail out your mental slug of a friend, it doesn't seem like you understand the message, either. 'One must love _only_ God.' Is there something unclear about sentence that it's unintelligible to you?"

"No, ma'am," Quinn responded, embarrassed.

"Try again."

"It means…we should only love God, and the feelings and bonds we have to other things are just distractions from God or us loving God through them."

"You're getting warmer, but are still on Antarctica."

"It's wrong to love anything but God, because whenever we feel love, it's because he gave us those things. We're actually loving him instead of the people or acts themselves, but are fooling ourselves into thinking they could exist without God."

"And what if we love something that isn't God?"

"We shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because we should only love what God means for us to love. Otherwise, it's just temptation from him."

"Hmm," Sue responded flatly. She let Quinn sweat for some excruciatingly long moments before relieving her with a condescending smirk. "Very good, blondie. Work hard enough, and you might make it up to Secretary Barbie with accessory glasses."

At that, Sue sat down at her desk and began to read and comment on her books. Both girls looked at each other and sighed deeply. They'd never been put on the spot with that much pressure or intimidation before. All they could say they got out of it is a new appreciation for Sister, now also known as "Saint," Holly's ways.

When the bell finally rang, Brittany was quick to shovel her books into her bag. She was well ready to flee for her life from that classroom when she felt a firm hand grip her shoulder. Behind her, Quinn stood with a sympathetic look on her face.

"Hey, B. That was rough. Buy you a frapp?"

The taller blonde took a moment to exhale sharply, allowing some of her anxiety to shake off. "Yeah…def."

Quinn smiled and bumped Brittany's shoulder with her own, as she ushered her towards the café and snack bar. The taller blonde remained silent down the hallways, and her poor lower lip was still getting gnawed on, despite the weekend having officially arrived.

"So, what'd you think of Sister Sylvester?" Quinn tried to break the silence, even though she was pretty sure she knew how the other girl felt.

"I miss Ms. Holliday."

Quinn chuckled at the simplicity of the statement and all its implications. "Yeah, she was really rough…but I actually prefer to learn what she was trying to teach us. It always feels like Ms. Holliday is just wasting our time with movies and gossip when there's like real doctrine from our religion we should be learning here."

Brittany's eyebrows quirked up, and she looked back at her friend in slight disbelief. That experience had been nothing but petrifying to her, and Quinn enjoyed it—even a little? "Did you have any idea what she was talking about? Those authors?"

"Well, no…" Quinn hesitated. "But, that's why I think it's important to learn that in school. If we don't learn it here, where would we learn it?"

"I guess," Brittany shrugged.

"You don't think it's interesting?"

"I mean, I don't mind reading about God and love and stuff, but Sister Sylvester made me feel…just like really stupid, more than usual."

Quinn nodded sympathetically and gave her friend another friendly shoulder nudge. Brittany smiled at the reassurance, but still couldn't believe Quinn _liked_ what had just happened. "Did you agree with what she was saying? From Augustus?"

"Augustine," Quinn corrected glibly. "I didn't understand at first, but yeah, the more I think about it, I do. God is the only thing we should and can actually love."

Brittany stayed quiet and sipped on her iced coffee. She seemed thoroughly confused and lost in thought. "What's up?" Quinn urged.

"Huh? Sorry, I was just trying to sort things out. It's really confusing, since I don't know anything about the religious scholars she was talking about."

"Do you think we can love anything but God?" Quinn wasn't sure why she asked this, since her friend was clearly lost on another planet. She had to admit she thought the argument Sister Sylvester had made from Augustine and Aquinas was really convincing, and she wanted to talk about it. It was always interesting to find the scattered and unexplored thoughts she held confirmed and acknowledged by the "greats." It helped her define and understand herself better.

"Well…" Brittany trailed off. "Doesn't it seem like it has to be true that we do? I mean, what about how we love our parents and siblings and…and I read this book once where—"

Suddenly, her azure eyes sparked widely with energy. "I just had a great idea! I gotta go, Q. Thanks for the coffee!"

With that abrupt explanation, Brittany bolted for her dorm room, leaving a wholly stunned Quinn behind. She had to place her order before 5 p.m. if she wanted it to arrive in time for next week.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Santanaaaaa!" Brittany called out loudly from the hall. Instead of feeling embarrassment, though, Santana couldn't help but grin at how totally dorky and shameless her roommate was. This sing-songing her name was becoming an adorable quirk she could get used to.

The blonde stormed into the room, exuding far more energy and excitement than Santana could imagine—and it was _her_ birthday. Brittany carried in two pink cupcakes and a package tightly wrapped in brown paper and twine. She set the desserts down on her desk before bouncing onto the bed where Santana sat, practically tackling her in the act.

"Aah!" Santana shrieked happily. "You're crazy, Brittany. You really didn't have to."

"Of course I did. I already told you last time, no buts. It's your birthday, I'm your roommate, and I wanted to do something for you. Deal with it," she ordered with the cutest and least intimidating smile ever.

The Latina smiled and took the package that her roommate held out to her. Pulling slowly on the twine and wrapping paper, she revealed a book, _Four Loves_ by C.S. Lewis.

Her eyes immediately shot up to Brittany, as she let it known that she was completely clueless as to why Brittany was giving her a book—this book, especially. It wasn't something she'd have expected her roommate to give, at all.

Brittany just smiled into Santana's lost expression and began to explain, "When I was a little kid, my mom read me _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_. I was so blown away by the whole fantasy and adventure of it, that I begged her to buy me all the Narnia books. I was obsessed with them. Once I finished those, I begged her for other things that C.S. Lewis had written, even the non-fiction."

Santana listened intently, but was still confused as hell. It was cute that Brittany was a little bit of a fantasy dork, but that still didn't explain the book.

The blonde giggled at the incredulous look on her roommate's face and continued, "Did you know C.S. Lewis was a devout Christian? So was J.R.R. Tolkien. He was Catholic, too. I think that's the only reason my parents supported my crazy obsession with their fantasy lands. Both the Narnia and Lord of the Rings stories are about being able to do incredible things if you have faith in a higher power."

Santana could feel her jaw starting to drop. First, Brittany gifts her a book, and now she was giving her a short lesson in literary culture. Surely, she'd entered some twilight zone. Maybe she was just dreaming.

"Anyways, I was obsessed and wanted to read everything by C.S. Lewis, since those books were like my favorite thing in the world. My parents got me this book when I was eleven. I remember spending an entire summer reading it, because it was so hard for me to understand, and it didn't have like pictures and stories in it…" she trailed off and unwittingly let her expression to contort in befuddlement.

Once she realized she was getting lost in her own thoughts, she snapped her eyes back to meet Santana's and smiled sweetly. "But, last week, Sister Sylvester was teaching our theology class and kept trying to tell us that the only love we should ever have is for God. Quinn and I were talking, and it reminded me of this book. I ordered it for you, because it explains exactly why I think they're wrong."

Brittany reached out and took the book from her still-speechless roommate. "Here, I've marked the parts that I think says it best." She flipped open to a page she'd tabbed with a sticky note and pointed to the line she'd highlighted.

_"Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained."_

Santana read the sentence over and over, trying to divine the meaning. She couldn't. All she knew was that her heart was pounding, and her beautiful, adorable, sweet, perfect roommate had just given her a book about love. "Umm…" she nervously spewed.

Brittany just laughed and linked one arm around the Latina's, holding the book steady. "No?" she prodded confidently, clearly teasing her roommate slightly as how dazed and confused she was.

"Huh?" was the only ineloquent response Santana could muster.

"It's okay. There's more," the blonde smiled patiently. She flipped to her other sticky note and a much longer passage.

"_To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."_

Santana wracked her brain with all her mental force. She could not understand for the _life_ of her what was going on and when Brittany suddenly became some sort of literary prodigy.

Some long moments passed, as Brittany just kept smiling expectantly at her. She knew she was supposed to respond. After all, it was a gift, and she should be grateful and excited about it, but she simply could not wrap her head around this gift. Why this book? Why these passages?

"Wha—? Umm, I—. Wait, what a—?" Santana fumbled miserably with words. When Brittany only broadened her smile, her bewildered expression worsened.

"The book is about love. Well, duh," she giggled. "It's about the different kinds of love we have for family, friends, God, and—" she paused purposefully to make sure Santana's eyes were glued on her. They were. "Romantic love," she finished softly.

"W-what?" her roommate stuttered like a deer in headlights.

"When Sister Sylvester and Quinn were trying to convince me that the only love we could ever feel was for God, I knew they were wrong. I just couldn't explain why; I just knew there was a difference between all these things. I could feel it. Once I remembered this book, I remembered you. And, even though I love my family and friends, and I feel…special when I'm doing things I really enjoy, it's different when I'm with you."

Santana was sure she looked like a bona fide idiot by now, because her jaw had been slack and was probably resting somewhere on the floor. What in the _world_ was Brittany saying?

Silence filled the room once again, and Brittany decided to give it one last shot. Words had never been her thing, so she had to try to lay it out one last time, as plainly as she could. Santana was the master over-thinker, after all. She took a trembling hand into hers and laced her fingers through Santana's. "I love all those things, Santana, but I love you, too. And, it's different."

Santana could barely hear the last part of those simple sentences over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She felt herself lose control of her limbs and start to shiver against her will. Panicked, she flipped through the pages of the book to the table of contents that listed the four types of love according to Lewis.

"U-uhhh-hhh," she stammered, terrified. "You mean, like affection? Or friendship? Because you've been such a great friend to me, Brittany, and if I'm right, you really seem to enjoy the affection and cuddling. I do too, you know? And I feel like I can talk to you, and it's nice having someone who's always happy to see me, and—" She rambled like a madwoman.

"_Santana!_" Brittany interrupted, nearly shouting, though her radiant smile indicated she was anything but mad. "Stop talking! Stop…thinking! Just stop! I love you! Not like in the affectionate or friendly way, but..." She trailed off. Words had clearly not served their purpose at all for her tonight. She had to go for it.

With a happy resignation that this was the only way to be clear, she reached out with her other hand and pulled Santana's head towards her, as she leaned in. Their lips collided abruptly, and Santana was positive the sound and jolt from the contact were symptoms of her having a heart attack.

But, it couldn't be. The contact lingered, soft, gentle lips on her fuller ones, accompanied by short, hesitant breaths by both girls. It was real.

Santana could feel Brittany's lips curl into a smile against her, then the taller girl leaned back in for more contact. This time, she cracked open her lips, and the blonde happily took the invitation. Their lips danced and pressed together, tongues slipping shyly into the other before they simultaneously pulled away. It was brief, but the electricity radiating from the contact coursed through Santana's body; she was certain her body was about to short circuit from the whole experience.

When Brittany leaned back from her, she saw stars. Then, when she managed to gasp in a much-needed breath of air, her vision returned and rested on the gorgeous blonde in front of her.

Whereas Santana had gone from adoring to bewildered to full-on panicked, Brittany's smile hadn't faded all night. It remained firmly planted on her face, as she opened her arms and wrapped them snugly around Santana. "I love you," she stated plainly. "Like that. Don't be scared."

She didn't want there to be a single chance of confusion anymore. When she eased slightly out of the embrace enough so that they could look at each other face-to-face, she saw Santana's expression had lost its shock and had settled into a calm, half-lidded-eyed smile. Brittany grinned a huge, cheesy grin and tackled her roommate back onto the bed.

It really was so much easier without words or thinking.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

I wanted to post this, since I might be AWOL for a while. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. You guys are the best, and hearing from you keeps me writing :)

P.S. I included Narnia in Brittana without the usual "so far in the closet" reference. Awesome? I think so :P


	10. Lesson Ten: Catholic Charity

First of all, to everyone who remembers this story and sent me reviews/alerts throughout my RIDICULOUS hiatus from this story, thank you. THANK YOU! I so apologize for taking such a long break. I can give an explanation about my real life and how it got in the way, but I don't want to bore all you awesome people :)

Second, I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with this chapter, so it may undergo some edits. But for now, please forgive typos/grammatical mistakes, as I just wanted to pound this chapter out once and for all. However, I hope it works. It's been a long, long time since I was a teenager experiencing my first love/crush, but I'm sure I was pretty volatile, irrational, melodramatic, and all-around crazy. Everyone was when they were that age, right? With that in mind, I hope you can relate to Santana and enjoy this chapter!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Okay. Favorite childhood toy?"

"Hmm," Santana paused thoughtfully before breaking into a chuckle. "Legos. I never cared about baby dolls or dress-ups or, like, girly, sentimental stuff when I was a kid. I guess that was an early sign, huh?"

Brittany looked down and flashed her roommate a radiant smile. Her expression brightened even more when she noticed how meticulously Santana was toiling.

At the start of the year, it had blown Brittany's mind when she first found out that the Latina had never had a sleepover with her friends where she stayed up late chatting and painting each other's nails. Ever since then, she was determined to make it happen, and now it finally was, after a fair amount of pleading.

Despite how silly it seemed, she was nothing but giddy and adoring over how distressed Santana seemed to get every time she got polish on her cuticles. It was so foreign to the Latina that she approached the task with all seriousness and, unfortunately, all clumsiness. It was something as simple as polishing nails, for god's sake. She _had_ to be able to do it, and clearly, she was rather embarrassed at how inexperienced she was at being girly.

Santana looked down at her own nails and how immaculately Brittany had decorated them for her. Not only was there a perfect layer of sickeningly sweet pink polish on each finger (Brittany's choice, of course), but on each thumb, Brittany had painted freaking tiny flowers on top. She'd even gotten a tooth pick to make the crease in the mini-petals look realistic.

In comparison, the job she was doing for Brittany made it look like the blonde had gotten into a cat fight with a chalk board, scratching and screeching her nails uneven on the surface to result in a fuchsia-red blood to seep from her nail beds. Somehow, Brittany didn't seem to mind at all, and Santana's pride couldn't have been more grateful.

"Worst haircut you've ever gotten?" the blonde continued on, smiling encouragingly as if Santana were painting The Last Judgment on her hands.

"Easy. On my twelfth birthday, I told my parents I was sick of my naturally wavy hair, so I made them pay for a Japanese straightening as a present. Worst…idea…_ever _for someone with thick hair."

"Are you serious?" The blonde burst into giggles at her disbelief.

"Mmhmm. Why? Are you embarrassed of me now?" Santana teased with a smirk.

"Of you, never," she responded sincerely, making the other girl blush.

"Well, you should be. Since my hair was short and so thick, it didn't really fall straight down like it should've. It kind of poofed out because of its own volume, and I looked like...Dora the Explorer."

"My little sister used to love that show!"

Santana couldn't resist the impulse to giggle at how the other girl had completely missed her point. "I guess maybe one person in the universe would've liked it then."

"Two, once you count me after you've shown me pictures." Brittany grinned.

"Nice try, but not a chance," Santana shot back immediately. She leaned back and returned the other girl's warm expression before glancing down to examine her handiwork. "I think I'm done."

She noticed that her slip-ups had gotten less noticeable towards the eighth and ninth finger. By the tenth finger, it looked like Brittany's pinkie had only been gnawed on by a piranha for a few moments. Better than being sawn off by a chalkboard, right? She was maybe letting herself feel a little proud of her own progress.

"Yay!" the blonde beamed. "Thanks so much, babe. It looks great!"

Santana chuckled slightly before realizing her girl's sincerity. _Am I allowed to call her my girl? _

Only Brittany could be so positive about a bang-up job like that, and even though her unrelenting sweetness was nothing new to their dynamic, Santana was sure it would never stop amazing her. "Yeah, of course, Britt-Britt."

Santana took both Brittany's hands in hers and lifted them towards her face. She'd begun to blow softly on the nails like the blonde had done for her when she heard three loud cell phone chimes indicating that Brittany'd just received a message.

"Oops, could you get that for me? I don't want to, um…" Brittany wiggled her toes and fingers to show that the paint hadn't dried on either, and she didn't want to move and smudge them.

"Oh, yeah."

Santana crawled right over the blonde's body and grabbed the cell phone off her desk. She hit the power button to wake the phone up again and began to fiddle with the unlocking pattern. Brittany had shown her a few days prior how to access her phone, since she'd forget to check and respond to messages more often than not, and her friends from home were starting to get annoyed by the lack of keeping in touch.

Santana tried about five incorrect shapes on the touch grid until the phone locked her out. "Please try again in 30 seconds."

She grumbled in frustration. "Shit. Sorry, I forgot the pattern again and froze your phone out."

In her defense, it _was_ a ridiculously complicated trace pattern.

"Oh, come here." Brittany patted a spot on her bed beside her. Santana quickly returned to her place by her roommate's side, where the blonde lazily draped one arm around her. She took a second to nest her head on Brittany's shoulder before holding the phone in front of her.

"It's like this." Brittany was careful not to smudge her manicure as she dragged the pad of her pointer finger in zigzags across the phone's grid. "Remember?" she smiled sweetly once done.

"Uhhh, I'm sure I'll get it eventually," the brunette mumbled. She was about to open up the text inbox when Brittany giggled and took the phone from her.

"Watch. It's just like playing tick-tack-toe on the phone." She turned the phone off and back on to trigger the lock again and traced the pattern more slowly for Santana. "See?" she looked up expectantly.

Santana just blinked in confusion. "Umm…"

Brittany grinned and rolled her eyes in a way only Brittany could without coming across as snobby. She pulled away from the girl nuzzled against her and crawled over the desk to grab a spiral and pencil. "Here."

She drew the nine-squared grid of a tick-tack-toe board and then placed an X in the top left corner. "Where would you go if you were Circle?"

"Center square, I guess."

"Okay." Brittany drew in Santana's move, then continued on to place an X in the top right square.

"Now where?"

"There." Santana pointed to the obvious move that would block Brittany from winning.

"Mmhmm," the blonde nodded in satisfaction, making her next move. "Now where?"

The Latina motioned again and added, "the only place to go to keep you from winning."

"Exactly, sooooooo…" the blonde dragged on as if she were building up the big reveal on a game show.

She grabbed her phone and planted her finger firmly on the top left corner of the nine-cell grid. "It just made the most sense to start from the first box, and then…" She proceeded to trace the exact order of the game they'd just played. "Voila!"

"Huh…" Santana's face wore a lazy grin as she caught on. Only Brittany would look at a cell phone screen lock and see a tick-tack-toe game. The logic was so obscure and so Brittany, yet it made total sense. As far as passwords went, it was brilliant.

"You know you're kind of a genius, right Britt?"

The blonde's eyes had been set on Santana, but at that comment, her cheeks flushed slightly and she looked down in a bashful smile. "Actually, no. I've never been told that before."

"Well." Santana paused to reach out and gently tip Brittany's chin to force her to lock eyes again. "You need some new friends." She leaned forward and pressed her lips against Brittany's in an innocent kiss before pulling back to smile at her.

The blonde returned the affectionate smile before placing both hands on Santana's shoulders and easing her down on the bed. Screw the manicure. "I already found the best one I could want."

Santana's smile instantly transformed from tender to naughty, as she wrapped her arms around the blonde's lithe body and pulled her on top of her. Brittany put up no resistance and went straight back to Santana's gorgeously pouty lips, placing a quick succession of pecks on them. The brunette moaned in appreciation, occasionally tilting her head up to capture and suck on Brittany's lower lip.

"Mmmphh," the blonde whimpered, her voice straining from both satisfaction and yearning. She tangled her hands in a mess of raven hair and forced the kiss to deepen. It still took her breath away every time Santana would respond by pursing her lips open to allow her tongue to slip in.

They continued on for several minutes, the desire and tension growing unbearable by the second, when Brittany eased her weight off her knees and allowed her lower body to press onto Santana.

The Latina let out an unwilling moan at the feel of her roommate's chest and abs and _core_ laying flush on top of her. They'd had their fair share of make out sessions since her fifteenth birthday, but none had gotten quite this heated yet, and the nagging voice in the back of her head, the anxious and smothering one that Brittany had tried to get rid of, was starting to shriek at her. Kissing was one thing, but grinding and wrestling around while lying in bed? That was a whole new level that couldn't possibly be construed as innocent curiosity. She should stop. She had to stop before she let Brittany indulge in something that she doesn't need to indulge in. She would rather be Brittany's teenaged experiment than be responsible for warping her into a walking stigma when she didn't need to be. _If she weren't isolated in the middle of nowhere with no boys in sight, she wouldn't have so much as hugged you_.

She heard her conscience loud and clear, but Brittany was Brittany: all the blonde hair, long legs, patience, and acceptance in this miserable world. So, she let herself ride on impulse and desire, even guiltily arching her back up to force Brittany's body to meld even further into her.

Hushed whimpers and moans escaped from both girls' lips, which only encouraged Brittany to push the act further. She released a handful of dark tresses and took a moment to thumb at the hem of Santana's shirt. Then, in a seamless motion, her hand slipped over smooth caramel abs and firmly caressed Santana's bare breast.

Santana's eyes snapped open, and she let out a sharp gasp, part out of panic, part out of the raw arousal that had shot through her body from that single touch. Instinctively, her hand flew down to catch Brittany's wrist and guide her away from her chest and out of her shirt.

She could see the hurt and confusion in Brittany's face, as the blonde's cheeks started to turn blood red, and her eyebrows knit in speechlessness. Santana immediately felt guilty for making her feel so rejected and out-of-line. Before the blonde could ask her what was wrong or apologize, the Latina pre-empted her by reaching up, holding her flustered cheek, and painting on a warm smile.

"We should go to bed," Santana said softly, but firmly before leaning up and kissing her adorable pout. "We have to wake up early to go to Dayton and give back to society or some bullshit," she ended with a smirk, allowing herself to fall back into her usual attitude-loaded persona.

Brittany took a few moments to study Santana and try to process what had just happened. She had hundreds of questions on the tip of her tongue about whether she was a good kisser, whether she should ask Santana about her boundaries first next time, but mostly whether Santana was too scared to let herself have what she wanted. But, Brittany wasn't stupid. She knew the answer to all those questions by how quickly Santana had gone from a panting, desperate mess to the snarky, confident girl she first met. She also knew better than to ask Santana for confirmation of her assessment, so she forced herself to smile back into those heavily guarded eyes and nod.

"Okay, baby." She lowered her head to plant one last kiss on Santana's lips before rolling off her and cuddling into her side. "But don't call it bullshit. I know you'll really enjoy it."

Santana let out her signature disbelieving chuckle. "Oh, yeah? Why do you say that?"

"Because you're someone who likes to give in order to keep other people from hurting," Brittany stated plainly as if it were a well-known fact.

The brunette couldn't react quickly enough to come up with a smug, witty response. She knew how utterly flattering it was to have someone think she could actually be that damn…_good_. But on the other hand, it hit too close to home. She wasn't sure if she'd just been called out. Before she could respond, she felt Brittany's toned arm wrap around her, holding her close enough to feel her heartbeat. "Good night, San."

"Night, Britt-Britt," Santana replied, even though she knew she wouldn't be able to force herself to sleep for a while yet.

She couldn't wipe away the memory of those stunned, wounded blue eyes from just minutes earlier. She'd been living with Brittany for several months now, but she hadn't seen her that damn sad before. It might be a sick thing to wish for, but she couldn't help but hope that the blonde had gotten upset, because she thought she got too sexual too soon with Santana. She didn't want to slut-shame her, of course, but it was better for Brittany to believe that than for her to think Santana didn't want her, because _Jesus_ she did.

_It's just that I wanted to protect her even more than I want to let myself have her. Fuck!_ Santana had unwittingly begun to grip at the blankets and grit her teeth in frustration. _I'm fucked either way. I can keep pushing her away to keep her walking this lonely road she wasn't meant for, or I can go along with everything and bring her down in my flames. _

Without realizing it, she found herself fighting off tears. She was just so confused and desperate for a way out of this where somehow the flawless, innocent girl wrapped around her could come out unscathed. Most of all, she was furious that she'd gotten herself into this situation, allowing Brittany to see how much she wanted her by indulging in her physical and emotional affection far too often. She wanted to thrash and scream and—

And, right as she was about to lose control in one of those tantrums she would've thrown before she met Brittany, she felt the blonde's chest vibrate against her, as she let out a sleepy giggle. "No, Tubbs! Leave her alone. She's okay. She's mine."

Santana's runaway train of thought stopped at the girl's dream-induced utterances. "Mmm, Santana," she mumbled.

The brunette let out a scoff, which turned into a brief, genuine smile. Only Brittany could go on an emotional rollercoaster ride of being silly then sexy then rejected, then have a playful lucid dream about her bariatric cat harassing her. And, only Brittany could take her on a ride of her own from irrationally angry to light-hearted.

They couldn't both be right. It was logically impossible. In seemingly every aspect of life, Brittany brushed past negativity and saw good in anything, even devil spawn like Quinn Fabray. Santana couldn't help but see how everything, especially _everyone _except Brittany, was so…shitty. She didn't know how Brittany could possibly think the way she did, but she did know that the world Brittany lived in was far more beautiful than the one she did.

She nuzzled her face into the crook of the blonde's neck and pressed her lips firmly to the skin. Brittany hummed in appreciation and unconsciously ran her palm back and forth in a soothing motion over her back.

Santana sighed out of both satisfaction and bewildered resignation. She had no idea how Brittany always knew how to give her exactly what she needed, and she wanted nothing more than to do the same for her. Maybe if she could live in her world too, she could be that person. She could stop herself from hurting her anymore.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It seemed like only five minutes later, Sister Pillsbury's knuckles were rapping harshly on their bedroom door. "Girls, wake up call! We're on the bus in half an hour!"

Santana groaned dramatically, and hid her face in a messy veil of blonde hair. "Fuck. My. Life."

Brittany let out a drowsy laugh and sat up in bed. "Come on, drama queen. Aren't you at least excited we're at least missing classes today?"

"What time is it?"

The blonde glanced at her phone before quipping back, "Five thirty."

"Then, no. If we had class today, I'd be able to sleep another hour and a half."

"Ha-ha," Brittany mocked through an amused smile. She knew her roommate was only this ridiculous when she meant no harm, so she felt free to banter right back. "You'd better get up. If you don't pull your face out of the pillow, you'll miss me changing, and I know you totally check me out every morning."

"Wha—" Santana cut herself off and began to blush furiously. She was caught red-handed and wasn't going to try to lie her way out of that one. She rolled around and got out of bed just in time to see Brittany's shirt glide over her stunning abs. She caught herself staring and tried to blink her senses back.

"See?" Brittany teased with a smug smirk.

"Not fair. That's like that annoying 'Don't think of a polar bear for twenty seconds!' trick that makes people think of polar bears when no one would've thought of one without the dare."

"Well, you got your eyeful, and I got you up in time to not make me late, so we both win." Brittany's smile was way too infectious, and Santana's own expression came to mirror hers, especially when the blonde swooped down to kiss her good morning.

The girls shared a sink while brushing their teeth in the crowded bathroom, and Santana's mood somewhat improved by watching the other eighteen girls in the hall fight for showers and mirror space with only minutes left. She'd never been more grateful for being too lazy to straighten her hair and put on makeup every morning. It was like these girls still thought women should never be in public without perfect grooming and a thought-out ensemble. Not to mention today was community service day. The homeless wouldn't turn away their free breakfast, because their server was a frump.

She was almost sad that she and Brittany had finished washing up right as Sarah from across the hall frantically called for help looking for her headband. She was nearly in tears, and honestly, Santana wanted to watch the shit go down. _Sometimes the satire writes itself… Maybe I'll ask Rachel to write a song about how ridiculously stupid this all is._

Before leaving their room, Brittany grabbed the big throw blanket that had been neglected on her bed for the past few weeks, once she started spending every night in Santana's bed. The brunette gave her a questioning look, but assumed the ride was long enough that Brittany might want to take a nap.

They beat most of their frazzled hallmates to the bus and claimed a seat in the back, furthest from Sister Pillsbury's doe-eyed watch. Once they were settled in their seat, Brittany threw the blanket over both their bodies. Then, under their makeshift privacy, she linked their arms and laced their fingers together.

Santana gave the blonde an impressed, adoring look. "Genius." Brittany blushed at the use of word again and squeezed Santana's hand.

They stayed like that for the entire hour-long ride.

Even though Dayton wasn't quite a huge metropolis, after spending weeks out in the middle of nowhere, it was easy to tell when the bus had entered city limits. When it finally pulled up to the cathedral and community center, it was quite obvious that they weren't in the best neighborhood. The surrounding buildings were covered in graffiti, and there were several stray dogs wandering outside the church's gates.

If the school was trying to teach them to be grateful for being upper-middle class by going for shock value, it was working. The mortified look on Quinn's and her lackeys' faces showed as much. The utterly unsanitary looks of the neighborhood surely got to Ms. Pillsbury also, as she hustled her hall quickly into the limestone walls of the church.

Once inside, she greeted the community outreach director with a handshake, followed up quickly with a dousing of antibacterial sanitizer, and the girls were led into the kitchen. Apparently, the church hosted breakfast for the homeless every Friday morning, so the director had the mass catering down to science. She split the girls up into five groups: bacon, eggs, pancakes, fruit, and drinks and service.

Until now, Quinn had been wearing a sourpuss expression for having to be up this early and doing manual labor in the ghetto, but when she got assigned to the bacon station, her mood seemed to flip completely. Santana might have seen a glimpse of light in her black soul if she weren't too busy snickering.

Quinn whipped around and scowled at the Latina. "What? Like you don't love bacon? Everyone does."

"Uh uh, not me," Santana quipped back smugly. "Everyone knows that that goes _straight_ to your hips…on _any_ girl." She topped off her thinly veiled insult with a wink, but before the queen bee could fire back, Sister Pillsbury cleared her throat loudly.

"Brittany! Santana! Why don't you guys help with the pancakes? On the _other_ side of the kitchen."

"See ya later, meat lover." Santana jibed and all but skipped away. Her little exchange with Quinn put her in an even better mood than her hour of cuddling Brittany under a blanket already did. "Sooooo…" she drawled out in an uncharacteristic sing-song voice. "Do you know how to make pancakes?"

Her blonde chuckled at roommate's cooking ineptitude. "Yes, but luckily you don't have to." She pointed to the huge sack of just-add-water pancake mix and a large mixing bowl. "Not even we can mess this up."

"Right. Oops…" Santana mumbled, feeling a little stupid at the moment.

Brittany smiled and bumped her shoulder against Santana. "Don't sweat it. I'm going to grease the pans and turn on the skillets. Why don't you do the math with how many times to do the recipe to feed everyone, because…? Well, duh. You do the math, because I won't."

Maybe for the first time while doing some sort of _chore_, Santana smiled and started to fill up the mixing bowl with enough powder and water to serve up a hundred pancakes. She eventually had to give up the mixing duties to Brittany. She was getting tired, that was a hell of a lot of thick batter, and the blonde was packing much bigger guns to power through.

"So, we can only make four at a time? Are we going to be here for like an hour?"

"No, watch." Brittany pointed to the four heated, greased pans. "Hit me, baby."

"One more time…" Santana finished on reflex. "Ugh!" The blonde giggled at her obvious influence on her roommate, who was grumbling something about shitty pop music while ladling out the batter.

Less than a minute later, the blonde flipped each of the spongy pools to reveal a golden brown underside. "Huh, that was fast."

"Mmhmm. When you come visit me at home, I'll make you my mom's amazing chocolate-chip-banana ones."

The Latina tried to focus on helping the homeless or some shit, but really, all she could think about was the perfect blonde creature beside her and what she'd just said. Assuming she'd be taking her home to meet the family? Brittany was totally into her. It didn't hurt to add the domesticity and intimacy of cooking for someone. When she thought about it, Santana had never cooked a single dish in her life, so in her mind, the act took special care and attention.

The smile never leaving her face, she scraped up the first batch of pancakes and piled them on the paper plates in front of her, two to a stack.

"Alright, babe. Gimme gimme more. Gimme more. Gimme gimme more," she sang to the irritating pop hook.

"Babe? It's Brittany…bitch." The blonde tried her best to add the "bitch" with a straight face, but couldn't hold the act long before smiling back and practically leaning all her weight on Santana as she filled the pans once again.

Not that there was much of a learning curve, but Santana got the hang of flipping pancakes quickly enough to finish before the other stations—mostly thanks to the guidance of Brittany. She would've thought that slicing apples and oranges would've been quicker, but then again, she also thought that losing a headband was no big deal, so she just shrugged. "So, now what?"

"Hmmm…" Brittany tapped her chin with an adorably pensive and intense look on her face. "Oh! Be right back!"

Brittany jogged over to the table where Ms. Pillsbury and the director sat and started digging through the box of "supplies" they'd brought from St. Anne's.

Without her cooking to occupy her, Santana let her eyes settle on Quinn at the bacon station. The small blonde's normally pale cheeks were dark pink, but now that the sourpuss had returned to her face, Santana wasn't sure if it was from the heat of the stove or from her friends. They appeared to be cluelessly shuffling around the kitchen, avoiding Quinn's death glare.

"Je—ee whiz, Jess!" the blonde barked at the thin redhead. Santana laughed audibly at the last-second save from using the lord's name in vain and from her the lame recovery. "If you keep burning all the bacon, there won't be enough left for _us_ to eat any, and we've already skipped breakfast back at school!"

"Sorry, Q, I'll…" Jess nervously mumbled before Quinn cut her off.

"No! Forget it. I'll do it!" She snatched the fresh package of bacon out of the other girl's hands and nearly ripped it in half while opening it.

"Mmm mmm…" Santana hummed over tauntingly, as if she were just as desperate for that bacon. A set of furious hazel eyes whipped up to glare at her, and she responded by smirking back, running her hands pointedly over her slim hips. Quinn's weren't much, if any, wider, but the gesture still added fuel to her fire. She practically threw a handful of strips onto the skillet before looking away to concentrate on her sacred task.

She was still basking in her mean girl glory, and she didn't notice Brittany back at her side already with two bottles of whipped cream. Her blonde beamed at her and thrust a bottle towards her.

Brittany went straight to the line of pancakes plates they'd made and drew a big, goofy smiley face on the first one. When she noticed Santana watching her, she looked up expectantly. "Well? Get to work!"

Santana responded by drawing a frownie face on hers, because, well, these guys were homeless. This was probably more relatable to them, right?

Just then, Brittany must have had her Santana-reading powers on, because she turned to her roommate and chastised her with a playful, "Santana, be nice."

Santana wasn't even going to try to fight it this time. Somehow, Brittany knew exactly what she was up to, so she might as well play along. She filled out the frowning curve into an oval shape to erase her insensitive jab. Then, she proceeded to draw a swirly-eyed face, a smiley sticking its tongue out, a smiley with a handlebar 'stache, and just about everything else cliché IHOP would think to decorate a pancake with.

Brittany looked over at Santana's handiwork, and, brandishing a plate of pancakes she'd transformed into a flower, she teased the stubborn Latina. "Is that really the best you can come up with?" She pointed at the row of smiley faces.

"Hmmph. Fine." Santana grabbed an undecorated plate and turned her back to the blonde, as if she were drawing a secret masterpiece. It only took her a matter of seconds to spray two short lines radiating from the center of the stack and add an eyeball. She whipped around with a mock pride and slid her plate towards her roommate. "There. I present to you…Pacman!"

Brittany smiled fondly and drew the same design on a stack, then added the "distinctive" Ms. Pacman bow on top. She placed her plate down next to Santana's, softly whispering, "Perfect couple." Their eyes locked for a knowing, tender look, which ended as it always did: in giddy smiles.

The blonde then took another plain stack and turned away in the same fashion Santana just had. As she faced the rest of the kitchen, the nearly uncontainable grin on her face stood out to an irritated and exasperated Quinn. She was still pissed her friends had wasted so much bacon and annoyed that she basically had to do everything herself. Seeing someone having such a great time, let alone with Santana, was _not_ something she needed right now.

She kept looking on as Brittany played Pictionary or something with whipped cream on the pancakes and saw her carefree blonde friend turn around to present…whatever it was on the plate to Santana. Immediately, the prickly Latina's smile changed from a playful to a genuine one, and she could spot some blushing even on her tan skin. Her friends had put her in a raging bad mood as it was. Watching the sweet, clueless blonde get sucked into whatever game Santana was playing only exacerbated it.

"Hey, Britt-Britt?"

Brittany handed the plate over to Santana before turning around, smile never faltering. "What's up?"

"If you guys are done with the pancakes, could you come give me a hand over here? I don't think Jess and Sarah have ever cooked bacon in their lives before, and I don't want us to ruin it all before the homeless can even have any."

"Oh, sure." She gave Santana a warm, parting smile before gliding over to join the others in front of the meat skillets.

Once Brittany turned her back to walk away, Santana immediately looked up to glare at Quinn. She expected to see a triumphant smirk on the smaller blonde's face, as that exchange had become near routine for them. Quinn would win her little victories and gloat, then Santana would have her comeback and give her a nice, shit-eating grin. It was a back-and-forth between high school mean girls.

But somehow, what she saw was much worse. What she saw actually got to her. Instead of a bitchy, self-satisfied grin, Quinn simply bored holes through her, seething with judgment and hate. It wasn't the look of a jealous friend or a playground rival, nor was it the pouty, diva face she'd been making while her friends burned the bacon. It was look someone gave another when they despised their _being_.

Santana tried to keep the scowl on her face fortified in return, but she found herself having to look away. She'd been looked at like that before, and even though she'd lashed out with a couple broken bones the last time, it didn't hurt or terrify her any less.

She turned away and fixed her eyes on the plate of pancakes in her hands. She sealed her eyes shut and forced herself to count her breaths before she lost it. She couldn't lose it, not here, not after Brittany. She knew it wasn't totally rational. There was no way Quinn could have really known what had been going on between them, but there was something about that look that was all too familiar—either from her past or from her fears of the future.

She sighed deeply and snatched a bottle of whipped cream off the stovetop. The morning had started off so well. She was so lost in Brittany and Brittany's world where she could cuddle under blankets and draw stupid couply faces on pancakes and just enjoy every silly little thing about everything. She knew that in Brittany's world, if she loved Brittany, and Brittany loved her, that would be all there was to it. She wouldn't have to worry about hurting her, and she wouldn't find herself in the ridiculous situation where she had to hurt Brittany to keep from hurting her more.

She wanted so badly to live in that world, but she knew that world wasn't the real world. People like Quinn Fabray kept her reminded of as much.

She shoved the nozzle of the bottle down with her index finger and slathered whipped cream onto the plate of pancake in her hands, completely smothering out the heart that Brittany had drawn for her.


End file.
